This Is Justice
by Lizzzers
Summary: The Revolution has not gone according to plan, and he is just now beginning to realize that there are consequences for his failure.
1. Prologue

**Title:** This Is Justice  
**Author:** Me of course!  
**Character(s) or Pairing(s):** United Kingdom x America...Kinda-sorta if you squint.  
**Rating:** PG (Might increase as chapters continue)  
**Warnings:** General angst, nothing explicit, but implicit in what's implied. (Violence. D:)  
**Summary:** The Revolution has not gone according to plan.  
**Author's Note**: Okay this might not make a whole lot of sense at first. It's inspired by my lovely friend who role plays UK and a bit she wrote. It is an AU, meaning a different take on how history happened. Unsure if this is a one-shot, or will be continued. (Never written a fic before like this.)

The battlefield was quiet, the hush of a Revolution coming to a close. Nature decided to commemorate the moment as rain began to fall and wash away the blood. Amidst the muddy field were two figures, one standing while the other knelt before them.

"I...I just wanted to prove..." The one kneeling spoke quietly, almost to himself. In his right hand a stuffed rabbit was held, the bottom half sinking closer and closer to the mud. His fingers curled tighter into the plush animal, knuckles whitening. "That I could be strong." The head of blond hair remained tilted forward, face obscured.

Silence returned. It was deafening. Again, he spoke, "Please, please don't." His left hand reached out, fingers slipping on the smooth leather of the others boots. There was still no response. Finally, desperate he looked up, blue eyes wide as they connected with green.

"_Please_ don't. You don't have to." The words brimmed with emotion, tears leaving tracks in the dirt and gunpowder on his face. His other hand brought the rabbit closer, holding it up for both to see. There were sloppy stitches around the neck, some were coming loose. "You've won. It's..." He couldn't bring himself to say 'over'.

His heart began to beat erratically, hand shaking as the rabbit fell back to his side, sinking into the mud this time. "Arthu-"

"They have committed acts of treason, and as such will be convicted as the traitors they are." The words were harsh, a cold undercurrent cutting through them.

_'We must hang together, gentlemen...else, we shall most assuredly hang separately.' [1]  
_

A dry sob escaped, shoulders hunching over further as he began to cry unabashedly. He risked one more glance up to the figure that loomed over him. Lips parted but no sound escaped. For a brief moment a flash of what might have been sympathy passed over the red-coated man's features. "You brought this on yourself Alfred." And with that said he turned and began to walk away, leaving footprints in the mud.

His fingers grasped at empty air, where a boot once was. Panic filled every crevice of his mind, head snapping to the side as he watched the retreating figure.

"_Arthur!_ Please! I'll be good! Please!" He choked on the words, voice cracking on the last plea for understanding, for empathy. There was no reply. He clasped the stuffed rabbit to his chest, holding it tightly as he began to rock back and forth in the mud. His mind drifted, recalling the catastrophic moment that set this off.

----------------

_"Do you like this, Alfred?" Arthur raised the stuffed rabbit, "Flopsy" up to give Alfred a good look. The small plush was grasped firmly in his hand, in all of its glory, very much like he had made it all of those years ago._

_"This is what's going to happen to all of those Yankees once the king takes back this colony for his own." And without further adieu, Arthur curled one hand around the bunny's head, and the other his body. With all of the might that he had left, he began to rip the two apart._

_The seams slowly came undone, having not been sewn together too tightly in the first place. Stuffing leaked out from the head of the doll and onto the ground. He held both parts of the toy out for Alfred to see again, "Their head's are going to be __**mine **__Alfred...I won't lose to you." Arthur couldn't help but smirk as he very roughly threw the pieces of the rabbit to the ground._

_The threat left Alfred shaking, able to envision his 56 delegates, those who had signed the Deceleration, hanging from the gallows. His beloved founders, Washington, Adams, and so many others. It was then that he vowed to defeat Arthur, because the consequences of failure were too great._

----------------

Arthur didn't stop, didn't even look over his shoulder when the hoarse cries reached his ears. This was justice, this was vengeance. The moment he had received that accursed piece of paper[2] it felt as though a part of his heart had been ripped out. It was only fair that Alfred endure the same pain, lose something so dear to him. Only then could they pick up the pieces, rebuild one another.

The expression on his colonies face as he walked away said otherwise.

* * *

1 - A famous quote by Benjamin Franklin that he spoke at the signing of the Declaration of Independence. He said it to remind the other delegates that unless they stood together, they would surely hang separately. The date was August 2nd, 1776.  
2 - The 'accursed piece of paper' is a reference to the Declaration of Independence and when it was received by the British.


	2. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** So originally I hadn't planned on doing anything more with this, but...Well some people have encouraged me to do so. x3 Yay for first fic!

_P.S. I didn't realize anonymous reviews were turned off, but they're on now. Yay for learning how to use this site.  
_

* * *

Two redcoat soldiers had to come collect him before he'd willingly leave the battlefield. The stuffed plush was clutched in one hand as his arms were slung around each man's neck, feet dragging in the mud.

He wearily looked up and over to the men who more or less carried him. Had they been there earlier to witness his spectacular failure? His head hung limp, eyes closing tightly as he tried to swallow down the shame that kept creeping up the back of his throat.

When he next opened his eyes they were entering the home that he was hoping to avoid, for another day at least. The one on his left opened the door without knocking. So they had been sent to gather him. Alfred should have been able to take comfort in that, but all he felt was aching despair.

The soldiers deposited him on a rug in front of the fireplace. They said something, but everything sounded like it was a long ways off. Water pooled around him, mud sliding off of his shoes and onto the previously clean rug. He had yet to let go of the stuffed rabbit.

He stared into the fire, shoulders beginning to tremble as the numbness faded and he realized how cold he was. The rain had yet to stop. He smiled bitterly, that had to mean something, some sort of symbolism.

"There is no need to act so childish." Things didn't sound so distant anymore, that voice was crystal clear to his ears. His gaze remained fixed on the crackling flames, no response whatsoever to _him._

His eyes narrowed as he heard _him _walking closer, but he still didn't look, not even when he could feel the closeness of the island nation. A hand fell on his shoulder and his muscles tensed, body going rigid under the soft touch. "If you don't wash up and change out of those rags you'll get sick."

With shaking legs he got to his feet, turning to look at, no down at him. "You'll see these _rags _again. Only next time I won't be the one kneeling in-" A sharp crack cut him off. Eyes wide he felt the burning skin before his mind could understand what had just happened.

The force of the slap left his face turned to the side. He slowly looked back, but refused to touch the stinging cheek. "You are a colony. _My _colony. The sooner you remember that the better." Alfred's fingers curled tighter into the stuffed rabbit. "Now go get cleaned up. If you won't burn that ridiculous uniform then I will."

He nearly protested, almost stood his ground to argue and demand that Arthur recognize he was no longer a child. Instead he turned and walked away, headed towards the bathroom that no doubt had a warm bath already waiting.

Sure enough once in the washroom he was faced with a steaming bath and clean clothes laid out. His blood boiled. Still he was treated like a helpless child. He closed the door behind him and locked it for good measure. A glance into the mirror left him even more humbled and humiliated than before. They had come so far, and gotten so close, and yet...He still remained a colony.

He stepped closer to his reflection, one hand reaching out to set his palm flat against the foggy surface. The left side of his face was red, skin throbbing from the slap he'd received. Otherwise he looked pale, eyes dull and face drawn. The war had been long and bloody, but losing the fight for his independence left him more exhausted than the battles ever had.

The stuffed animal hung at his side. He smiled sadly at the mud covered item. Alfred walked over to the tub and knelt down on the floor in front of it. He shrugged off the military jacket and let it rest on the floor and then rolled his sleeves up. Reverently he submerged the rabbit in the warm, soapy water. He took the bar of soap and began scrubbing at the cloth, trying to work out the dirt and blood.

After he had gotten out the worst of the stains, he dunked the rabbit one more time. Alfred held it up, looking at the cherished plush with a small smile. There were still spots here and there, mostly blood that would never come out. He got up and set the wet plush in the basin to dry off.

_Knock knock._ Alfred nearly jumped when he heard the repeated sounds. "I know you've never been one for baths Alfred. Are you quite done yet?"

Panic set in for a moment, "I-I'll be out soon." He hastily slipped off the rest of his clothes and got into the now dirty water. A hiss of pain escaped from between his teeth. All the cuts and bruises ached and the soapy water only called attention to them.

Alfred rushed through cleaning off, and pulled on the clean garments before he was completely dry. As an afterthought he grabbed at the rabbit, and tucked it under one arm, his uniform held in the other.

He breathed in deeply, holding it for a moment before letting out a sigh. Reluctantly he unlocked the door and opened it. He peeked out and looked both ways. There was no Arthur in sight, so he slowly walked towards his room. With his shoulder he nudged the door open, and stopped after only one step into the room.

Alfred stared at Arthur, his hold on the uniform tightening slightly. "Get-out-of-my-room." He punctuated each word.

Anger flashed across Arthur's features as he moved forward. "This is your room so long as I deign it to be." He held out a hand, palm up. "Give me that and I'm more than happy to leave you to mope." Alfred turned his body away, as though he could shield the torn and dirty uniform.

"No." That was not the response Arthur had been expecting as was clear from the look on his face.

"I will not ask a second time." This time there was a biting edge to Arthur's demand. Alfred took a hesitant step back. He felt his eyes watering, but refused to blink. "You're going to kill them." His voice shook. "You're going to _kill _them and I can't even say goodbye. My friends. And all I have left of them you want to burn." Alfred folded his arms over the uniform. The wet stuffed rabbit pressed against his chest, clothes covering it.

Alfred felt lightheaded. The thought of losing the uniform, one of the last connections he had to his patriots and their ideals was too much. He gasped, taking in a deep breath that did nothing to calm him. "I didn't mean it earlier." The words tumbled out in a rush.

"I'll never wear it again, never look at it again." Alfred felt like he was back in the mud, kneeling in front of Arthur, begging for understanding.

Unlike before, Arthur took a step closer instead of away. "I don't so much as want to hear a whisper about _them._ Otherwise it goes in the fire."

Alfred nearly cried out in relief. His grip on the uniform relaxed and he nodded his head in agreement. He stiffened when Arthur stopped and stood next to him, fingers brushing against the back of his hand. "Don't break your promise, not this time." Arthur said no more as he left, closing the door behind him on the way out.

He set the folded pile of clothes down atop the dresser at the foot of his bed. Flopsy was placed next to them as well. With those taken care of he walked over and opened the door as quietly as possible. He crept down the hallway, stopping outside Arthur's office when he heard a voice he didn't recognize.

"It will be but a manner of time before the executions start. There are still many unaccounted for, and Franklin has been given political asylum by the French. They can't hold Adams though." Alfred held his breath, afraid to make a noise.

"As for General Washington he is being held in a secure location. We'll begin once the others are gathered."

Alfred pressed closer against the door, straining to hear anything more. "Good. Be sure to call for Adam's extradition then." Arthur sounded as though he were talking about the weather, and not a man's life. Heavy with guilt, Alfred turned and crept back to his room, and made sure to close the door as quietly as it had been opened.

It would take them time to find the delegates, and at least Benjamin was safe in France. Still, there had to be something...

Alfred walked over to the window, and stopped in front of it. Thoughts began churning inside his mind, plans and cause for hope. Perhaps all was not lost. Perhaps there was still a chance to prove himself.

* * *

Benjamin Franklin spent much of the war in France, seeking aid. For the purposes of this fic, Franklin did not fully succeed in gaining their help which was a factor in why Alfred didn't win the war. As a brilliant man well into his upper years it's unlikely the British would have sought Franklin with much enthusiasm. Adams on the other hand...Was a very outspoken patriot and his somewhat brash attitude probably wouldn't have won too many friends overseas. The British would have every right in demanding the French release him to their custody.

:D YAY.


	3. Chapter 2

Mworp. So I'm hoping that posting my work here will encourage me to work harder on my writing/improve myself. Friendly advice/tips are more than welcome.

* * *

It was well into the morning and Arthur had yet to deal with any of Alfred's usual antics. He had anticipated that losing the war would leave him even more of a handful than before, and yet all was quiet in the home. It was unnerving.

Another hour ticked by, and Arthur decided he'd had enough of Alfred's self-imposed isolation. He shoved aside the papers he'd been diligently writing and walked out from the study. Just as he'd left it, the door to Alfred's room was shut tight.

He paused outside the door, contemplating on whether or not he should knock. It wasn't necessary to show that sort of consideration for his colony just yet. He grasped the knob and pushed the door open, expecting to see Alfred's room empty or things in disarray.

Instead there was Alfred, sitting cross legged on the floor. The stuffed plush rabbit was balanced on one knee, blue eyes distant.

The sight rendered Arthur speechless. The colony looked so _thoughtful _and almost peaceful. Was this the same Alfred who had nearly broken into tears just the other night? Arthur wondered how long he'd been sitting there.

He was hesitant to bring Alfred from whatever thoughts he had. Arthur walked over to the seated blond, and still there was no visible reaction to his presence. Thick brows furrowed as he knelt next to Alfred.

"America." He used the colonies formal name. Nothing. With a sigh he reached out and tapped him on the shoulder. That seemed to do the trick. Alfred slowly came back to reality, eyes focusing and his muscles taut once more.

Alfred scooted away as soon as he noticed how close Arthur was. "What?" The one word was almost a whisper as he hastily moved to hide the rabbit, even if it had already been seen.

Arthur hid the pain that shot through his heart when Alfred scrambled away as though burnt. It was going to take time...He stood up, and decided not to comment on the obvious attempt to put the stuffed animal out of sight.

"You've been cooped up here all morning. There's tea on and you should eat something." It was so easy to slip back into the role of a guardian. The only problem being that it was nothing like before. Arthur could see the anger and hurt welling behind those eyes.

There was a visible twitch on Alfred's face. "I don't want your dirty wa-" He stopped mid sentence. "I'll make coffee." He settled for saying instead, and got to his feet.

Alfred carefully stepped around Arthur, leaving the older nation alone in the room.

The plush rabbit had been left on the floor. Arthur leaned over to pick the dirty thing up. One finger traced the stitching that had reattached the torn head. He hadn't expected to see the silly thing again. It held bittersweet memories. He set the rabbit back down on the floor where it had been.

Alfred ignored the kettle of tea, and perhaps more importantly ignored the urge to knock it aside and spill it all over the floor.

He fidgeted as he waited for the coffee to finish brewing. He wasn't even thirsty, or hungry for that matter, but he could only avoid Arthur for so long. A sigh escaped as he watched the dark liquid begin splashing up into the top of the thin kettle. The smell of coffee filled the room, soothing his nerves as it did.

Alfred began to pour some of the bitter liquid into a cup, an old one he still had from his Native People. "I don't know how you can stand to drink that." Alfred jumped and almost spilled the coffee all over himself.

"I like the way it tastes." Alfred commented quietly, and thought to himself, _'So do my people.'_ Arthur frowned in obvious distaste before taking the kettle of tea to pour himself another cup. "Don't get too attached to the taste." Arthur advised in between sips of the sweetened tea.

He looked over his shoulder at Arthur, confused. "Tea imports are going to resume and our trade will be as it was before." Arthur was reading a piece of paper as he announced the news.

Alfred's nails scraped at the hardened clay mug in his hands, and he drank the coffee without adding any sweetener or milk. "Just with you?" He tried to sound casual, but failed utterly.

Arthur arched one brow up at Alfred, "Who else would you need to trade with?" Alfred nearly screamed. How could Arthur be so clueless? Had he already forgotten the last twenty or some years? Instead he swallowed back the anger and forced an empty smile. "No one."

He turned and stomped out of the room, hot coffee spilling over the edges of his cup and leaving dark spots on the floor. Alfred flung open the front door, letting it slam shut behind him as he stood on the front porch. He plopped down on the steps and huddled over the mug held between both his hands.

"No one, no one, no one." A shaky bitter laugh escaped. It was unbelievable. He had expected Arthur to be so angry about all this, and maybe he was, but he hadn't anticipated...This. The way he acted like nothing had happened, that everything was back to normal. As though Alfred should be grateful to him. Who else would he need to trade with?

Alfred's shoulders shook as he tried to keep from laughing. It wasn't that funny, not really, but it was just so _absurd. _He didn't look up when the door opened and closed behind him.

There was an uncomfortable silence, tension coiled in the air between the two. Finally Arthur spoke. "I have matters to attend to, and will be gone but a moment." Alfred set the coffee down on the porch to his left, and forced himself to smile up at Arthur.

"I've got my coffee."

Arthur frowned, looking at his colony with concern. "That you do." He replied. "I'd advise you to stay at home," Alfred nodded once, "and that's not a request." Blue eyes sharpened slightly as he threw one arm forward in a frustrated gesture.

"Stop treating me like a kid." The words came out through gritted teeth.

The Brit shook his head, "You forget your place, all too often _America._" The emphasis on his formal name was very much intentional. "So belt up. I'm being lenient enough as is. The King would have you locked up like those Patriots of yours, which isn't all too bad of an idea."

Alfred shot to his feet, his rage barely contained. "Maybe you'd finally learn some manners that you've clearly forgotten." Arthur's words were clipped and short. "I expect you to be here when I return." He strode down the steps and towards the barn where his horse no doubt was.

Alfred glared at his back, hating the self-assured way in which he walked. The untouchable _Britannia _where the blood-red sun never set. He watched until the nation rode off, disappearing from his view.

"That god-forsaken arrogant redcoat!" Alfred roughly punched the front door, pain shooting up his arm and down again from the impact. He followed it up with a kick, breathing heavily as his hand fell away from the door.

Two sizable dents were left in the thick wood, blood flecked the uppermost one. He raised his shaking hand, an ache throbbing throughout his fingers as he eyed the damage. Splinters of wood were jammed under the skin, especially where the skin had been scraped off his knuckles.

Alfred opened the door with his other hand, mug of coffee left forgotten on the porch as he walked through the house and stood outside the door to England's study.

He stared down at the doorknob, a rune etched into the wood around it. No doubt Arthur would know the moment he tried to open the door. No, not yet. Instead he turned and walked back out the front door, roughly pulling the larger splinters out of his skin as he walked across his land. Not quite leaving the property, but putting distance between himself and the house.

Alfred finally sat down in a clearing, near enough to hear the trickle of the stream just further down. He fell onto his back and stared up at the skies that had finally cleared, blue showing through the formerly gray clouds.

Something tickled his arm and he looked down to see a white rabbit curled up against his side, its ears tipped black along with its nose. Alfred slowly sat up. The rabbit cheerfully bounded into his lap, sitting there as though it belonged.

"Where's your family?" Alfred asked softly as his unmarred hand petted the soft fur. As if on cue another rabbit had appeared and began gently nibbling on his pant leg. Alfred laughed, this time no ironic sound to it, but pure joy. "Cut that out it tickles."

He laid back down, one rabbit on his chest while the other made itself at home atop his head. "Alright, but I can't bring you guys in the house..._He's _back."

Alfred was content to stay like that, and drifted off.

* * *

When he had finally returned from his duties, he was surprised to find the cold mug of coffee unattended on the porch. Arthur stared down at it and then looked around, curious as to where Alfred had wandered off to.

A young soldier approached, one of which he had left to keep an eye on the house; more specifically on Alfred.

"Sir he went that way and hasn't yet returned."

Arthur thanked the young man who turned and went back to his assigned post. He walked in the indicated direction, keeping an eye out for the colony. He stopped and stared, Alfred was impossible to miss with all the small furry critters around him.

The boy could befriend anything. It was astonishing. Arthur moved forward again, and knelt down next to the sleeping form. The animals didn't seem to care he was there, or simply chose to ignore him. "Alfred, come inside."

He opened his eyes, and glanced over to Arthur, still nearly asleep. His arms curled protectively around a smaller rabbit on his chest, "Don't." He murmured, "Ben just fixed him and I can't sew that good." Alfred's eyes drifted shut once more, the rabbit squirmed out from his arms and burrowed underneath his shirt instead.

Arthur's mouth dropped open for a moment. Had the incident with that stuffed plush affected Alfred so? He bit down on his bottom lip for a moment before gently shaking Alfred's shoulder. "Come now Alfred."

With a groan of protest Alfred began to sit up, the animals around him scurrying off. Only the small rabbit with its head poking out of his collar remained.

He exchanged a glance with Arthur before he got to his feet. "I'm going for a walk."

Arthur opened his mouth to protest, but pressed his lips together at the last moment. "Be home before it gets dark." He frowned to himself. It wasn't strange of Alfred to want to be alone, but...But Arthur had just gotten him back, and more than ever he wanted to keep an eye on him. Never again could he stand to lose him...And he couldn't shake the feeling that Alfred had some harebrained scheme planned.


	4. Chapter 3

No super important authors notes this time, just sorry for the slight delay in posting. D: I am fail. Not really sure if the content here counts as T rating-wise, but to be safe...OHMYGOSH THIS IS SO LONG.

* * *

When Alfred had returned to the house, the rabbit was now sitting atop his head. He stopped when he reached the porch. He picked the rabbit off the top of his head and looked at it, nose to nose. "I can't take you inside."

The rabbit's nose twitched in response, ears flattening against its head. Al frowned, "I don't want you end up like Flopsy." Another twitch of the nose. Alfred set the rabbit down and watched as it began to hop off. "Thanks for listening!" He called out after it.

He walked up the steps and into the house just as the sun was setting over the horizon. The smell of Arthur's cooking reached his nose and he groaned.

Alfred wondered if he could sneak into his room without alerting Arthur, but then the older nation might wonder if he had actually gotten home in time, and then he'd get in trouble and Al just didn't have it in him to deal with a moody Arthur. Well, moodier than usual.

With a contained sigh he walked towards the kitchen, and was greeted with the sight of Arthur standing over the stove, probably trying to salvage what was left of something burnt.

"I'm home." He announced. Arthur turned around, surprise flitting across his features only to be replaced by approval. "Just in time for dinner then." Arthur didn't say anything else as he put whatever he had made onto two plates.

Resigned to eat whatever he'd cooked up, Alfred sat down, and drummed his fingers on the edge of the table. He hadn't ever expected to be doing this again. Eating Arthur's food at the table, as a colony to the British Empire. Thinking about it almost made him lose what little appetite he had.

Arthur sat down opposite him and slid the plate across to Alfred. He stared at the somewhat burnt food, figuring it to be some kind of meat and vegetables. The weight of Arthur's stare was beginning to get annoying. Alfred grabbed a fork and speared what could have been a carrot at one time before putting it in his mouth.

The two of them continued to eat in silence, which was a blessing as far as Alfred was concerned. He didn't want to hear anything from Arthur. Though he'd eventually have to talk with him. Time was of the essence, and he couldn't afford to wait too long.

"Tomorrow we'll be going into the city." The abrupt statement caught Alfred off guard. With another one of the mystery vegetables halfway to his mouth he stopped and finally made eye contact with Arthur. "What? Why do I need to go?" He eased the burnt veggie off his fork and began poking at the rest of his food. Seriously, had this stuff been edible – Ever?

Arthur resisted the urge to scold Alfred for playing with his food. "The King expects you to be present for the hangings, as do I."

The fork fell out of his grasp, fingers going limp. Alfred's eyes shot up to Arthur's. "W-what? Already? But, but you don't even have all the delegates, and-"

"We captured some during the fighting, five to be exact." Arthur interrupted casually, as he continued to eat his meal. "Four of them will be hung tomorrow. The fifth recanted his signature and swore fealty to the King." Arthur glanced up, "The four are-"

This time it was Alfred's turn to cut off Arthur. "I _know _who they are." Walton, Heyward, Middleton, and Rutledge. He was hoping that the hangings would be postponed until all were accounted for. He'd made a grievous error and now four men would have to pay with their lives for it.

Alfred got to his feet, shoving the chair roughly away from the table as he stood, head bowed and shoulders shaking. This wasn't fair. How could Arthur so easily dismiss a man's life? Especially that of brave men, more courageous than any of his cowardly royals.

Arthur watched as Alfred stood up, pitying the poor boy and his love for the men who had committed treason. "America, sit back down." He sounded exasperated as he sighed. "You knew what the consequences would be." By this time Arthur had set his silverware down and was watching the colony expectantly.

"I _hate _you." The words were pitched low. Arthur's eyes widened, lips parting as he stared at Alfred in shock.

Alfred's head straightened up, eyes darkened with rage as he looked at Arthur. "Excuse me?" Arthur had yet to move from his chair.

Alfred leaned forward, fingers curling into the edge of the table. "I _hate _you, and I will _never _forgive you for this."

Arthur physically recoiled, one hand straying up towards his chest as he stared at Alfred. "Al-Alfred, please, there is no need..." He finally stood up as well and reached across the small table to try and comfort him, assure the colony that life would continue on.

Instead Alfred stepped back quickly, shaking his head as he put distance between them. "I don't want your pity." He hissed the words out through gritted teeth. "I want nothing to do with you." Alfred felt numb, like he was watching all this from outside his own body.

The sympathetic look from Arthur turned into one of annoyance. "Look here, I will not just stand by and listen to this tripe of yours." Green clashed with blue. "This is not a matter up for debate, and perhaps if you acted mature I could stop treating you like a child!" Arthur wasn't sure when he had begun to shout, but he could feel his face darken in anger.

"You're right you don't have to listen to this..Because I'm not going to stand here and listen to you so...So casually discuss murdering my delegates!" With that Alfred spun around and took off from the kitchen.

Shocked, Arthur stared at the spot where Alfred had been moments ago. "You insufferable git!" He shouted after the colony. Face red, Arthur roughly picked up the plates and tossed them, along with the uneaten food in the basin. He'd leave Alfred to his thoughts, and collect him in the morning when the time came.

Once Alfred had gotten to his room, he slammed the door, locked it and collapsed to the floor in front of it. He began crying the moment he hit the ground. Frustrated and so disappointed in himself. Those men had trusted him, and he had condemned them to death with his failure.

He bit down on his bottom lip, his hand curling into a fist and hitting the floor once, twice. Useless, he was completely useless. He rubbed at his face with the sleeve of his shirt, and shakily got to his feet. Alfred walked over towards the window, intent on opening it and finding a way to save the men before morning.

As quietly as he could he began to push the window ajar, but stopped when he looked down and saw the splash of red against green. There were plenty of soldiers milling about on _his _land. The officer of the group was standing next to a horse, head tilted back as he looked directly at Alfred.

He slammed the window panes shut, screaming in frustration before he turned and collapsed onto his bed, hitting it with his fists. This wasn't fair. It wasn't right! He had just wanted to prove to Arthur that he could take care of himself..That maybe one day he could even take care of Arthur, of everyone.

Yet here he was, trapped in the same gilded cage he had been for years. And he wasn't sure he could endure another hundred years of it.

* * *

Alfred hadn't slept at all that night. The food Arthur had made sat heavy in his stomach, like a lead weight. He perched on the edge of his bed, watching out the window as the sunlight began to replace the darkness from the night. The night that had dragged on with each minute ticking by, resonating in his heart.

The door opened and Alfred kept on looking straight ahead. He saw red out of the corner of his eye and stubbornly ignored it.

"You're not even dressed yet." Arthur sighed as he looked at the unresponsive teen. He took a few more steps so he stood in front of Alfred, and with one hand tilted his chin up to he could get a better look at him.

Dark circles framed bloodshot eyes, the bright blue faded considerably. Arthur's eyes widened as Alfred finally turned that empty gaze up to him. "My dear boy..." He leaned down, and wrapped his arms around stiff shoulders, his chin resting atop Alfred's blond head.

"The sooner this is done with the better." He moved away from the silent colony, and began pulling out clothes for him to wear.

Alfred got to his feet and watched as Arthur laid out clothes on the bed. He said nothing, but was beginning to think that black would be a more appropriate color than the deep blues and creams of the clothing that Arthur had picked out.

An uncomfortable silence grew between them, mostly uncomfortable for Arthur. Alfred seemed oblivious to it as he stared at the clothing without so much as a blink.

"I'll be waiting for you outside." Arthur made a hasty exit from the room, leaving the door partially open as he left.

Alfred walked over and pushed on the door until it clicked shut. He pulled off the clothes from yesterday that he'd never bothered to change out of and began to dress in the clean items Arthur had chosen.

He grabbed a black ribbon from the bottommost drawer of his dresser and roughly tied it around his left arm. The ribbon was the best he could do for now, and it was probably the most he could get away with.

Alfred looked at the stuffed plush rabbit sitting on the floor. His brows twitched downward, hesitating a moment before he turned and left the room.

Arthur was standing by a carriage out front, speaking with the officer that had watched Alfred's window the night before. Shoulders hunched, Alfred forced himself to walk out the front door towards them.

Instead of stopping by the nation, Alfred walked right on past and stood next to one of the horses. He patted its neck and ran his other hand along its forehead.

Frowning slightly Arthur nodded to the officer who turned and walked back towards his own horse. "Alfred..."

At the sound of his name he stepped back from the horse and without a glance to Arthur got into the carriage. Arthur followed in after him and sat opposite his colony, who was staring out the small window.

Arthur knew better than to try and say anything, so the ride passed in silence. The sounds of a gathered crowd grew louder and louder, and eventually the carriage came to a stop. Arthur stepped out first, and was about to offer his hand to Alfred, but the teen had already gotten out and was standing with his head hung low.

The island nation reached out to place a hand on Alfred's shoulder, but he flinched away, and shook his head. Arthur felt helpless, watching Alfred distance himself like this. He turned and walked towards the box they'd be sitting in, along with the newly reappointed British representatives.

Alfred sat down in a chair, his body trembling and skin cold. His foot twitched, while his fingers interlaced and then pulled apart, before repeating the process again. He could hear Arthur talking with someone else, someone with the same smooth British accent, but the sound of his own heartbeat seemed far louder.

Then everything went quiet for a moment before the boos and the cries returned with greater vigor than before. Alfred's face lost any remaining color as a cart was pulled in with four men sitting on it, each shackled and bloodied.

The cart stopped suddenly and the executioner grabbed the first of the men to be hung. Al leaned forward, fingers grasping out as though he could stop this with his will.

_Middleton, Arthur Middleton._ Alfred's eyes widened as the young man was led up the steps. He was barely 37...But he stood as proud and defiant as ever. His chin held high and eyes skimming the crowd with courage that brought tears to Alfred's own eyes.

Then Middleton seemed to finally see Alfred. The moment their eyes locked, Alfred got to his feet.

Middleton's smile widened and he mouthed one word, "_Liberty."_

The lever was pulled and he dropped suddenly. Alfred cried out, but his voice was lost amongst the crowd. He stared at the limp body, jerking his gaze away only when a keening moan reached him. Alfred looked down to find Middleton's wife, Mary sobbing as a redcoat held her.

Alfred looked over at Arthur, who stared right back at him with a steady gaze. "Please, no more."

Arthur said nothing, and simply glanced back to the gallows as another prisoner was taken from the cart while the body of Middleton was tossed aside.

"No. Please, not Edward." Alfred was mumbling as he watched the even younger Edward Rutledge led up the steps. His mind flashed back to the jokes the two of them had shared. Edward had been the youngest to sign the Declaration at just twenty six years old.

He frantically turned to Arthur. "He-He didn't even _want _this! He wanted reconciliation!" Alfred's voice was hoarse and choked with unshed tears. Arthur's silence seemed louder than the jeers and shouts of the people gathered below.

Alfred looked back as Edward awaited his fate. The former artillery captain stared ahead, face smooth of any emotion.

The executioner approached the lever and Alfred shouted out, "Edward! Someone do _something!_" Why did everyone just stand there and watch their own Patriots be condemned?

Rutledge glanced up, surprised when he saw Alfred, but he quickly looked away as though he were the one ashamed. This time, Alfred closed his eyes, unable to watch another man hang for him. Bile crept up his throat, his grip on the railing the only thing that kept him standing.

When he next opened his eyes the noose was empty, and another young man was being pulled to his fate.

"Tom." Alfred breathed the name, watching as Thomas Heyward was chosen next. It wasn't right. All of them were so young still, not a one of them even forty. Alfred looked away from Tom to see the last remaining delegate in the cart watching him.

George Walton held Alfred's gaze, before he jerked his head towards the gallows. Alfred's fleeting look shifted back to the hangman's noose as it was tightened about Thomas's neck. Tom closed his eyes, and began speaking, or perhaps praying.

Alfred leaned closer, and watched Tom's lips, reading them as best he could since the crowd drowned out his voice.

"_Are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the-"_

Alfred gasped when Thomas dropped, stumbling backwards. "Pursuit of happiness." He whispered the words, finishing the opening to the Declaration.

Only George remained. Alfred swayed on his feet, heart heavy as he watched the last of his delegates calmly accept his death. "Fight." Alfred barely murmured the word. "Kick, scream, anything." Walton did nothing of the sort, and his was demeanor was the most eerie to witness.

Even the crowd quieted down as the last of the delegates stood with a noose around his neck and a peaceful air about him.

Alfred couldn't look away, Walton _demanded _he see this. Even Arthur leaned forward in his seat. It felt like an eternity before the wood creaked and the floor gave out beneath Walton. Alfred knew it was impossible, to hear over the frenzied cries of the people below...But he swore he could not only hear, but feel the snap of the noose as it so suddenly took the life of another young man.

His eyelids felt heavy, and he fought to keep them from slipping shut. Fingers uncurled from the railing as he fell backwards, legs giving out beneath him. The back of his head clipped the edge of the chair he had hardly sat in.

The edges of his vision faded, everything darkening around him as he lost consciousness.

* * *

Soooo the four delegates used in this story were actually captured during the American Revolution. Not because they had signed the Declaration, but because they had been active participants in the fighting. In real life they were eventually traded or released back to the Americans once the Revolution was won. Since that didn't happen in this story, the four met their fates at the gallows. The fifth one who recanted his signature and swore his allegiance to King George III was Richard Stockton. He was the only signer who violated his pledge to support the Declaration with his life. Or as the Declaration reads, "Our Lives, our Fortunes, and our Sacred Honor."

Then again he was the only delegate captured for his status of being a signer of the Declaration. Hrm.


	5. Chapter 4

Sorry guys. Had a minor meltdown IRL. Updates on story got delayed. D: Fail excuse, I know.

* * *

He felt heavy, like a weight was pressing down on his chest. Alfred bit back a groan and settled for opening his eyes. The ceiling was familiar, he was home. He sat up and looked around, gaze settling on the window that was opened slightly to let in a breeze.

It was light out, probably late afternoon. He hunched over, head slanted down as blond hair fell over his face. "He actually did it." Alfred murmured to himself, one hand reaching up to press over his heart. He could feel their deaths, so pronounced and painful. Like a piece of himself had died with them.

A small shape caught his attention from out of the corner of his eye. He turned slightly and was greeted by Flopsy, sitting on the bedside desk. Alfred hadn't moved the rabbit from the floor when he'd left, which only left one person who would have moved the plush.

He began to reach out towards the familiar comfort when he heard footsteps coming closer. Alfred fell back onto his back and pulled the covers up to his chin. He couldn't handle Arthur, not yet. The hangings were still fresh, in both his mind and heart.

So he curled up, closed his eyes, and hoped that Arthur wouldn't linger too long.

The door squeaked as it opened. Just enough to let him peek in and check on the boy. Arthur had expected the deaths to be hard on Alfred, but not to this extent. Still out cold it would seem. With a quiet sigh he slipped into the room and walked over to the bed.

There was a chair already seated beside it. When Alfred had fainted he hadn't wasted time in getting the colony home, where he could keep an eye on him and make him comfortable. He'd knocked his head a good one and there had been a slight gash as a result.

Arthur hesitated a moment before sitting in the chair again. He'd been constantly checking in every so often, hoping that Alfred would wake up soon.

Meanwhile Alfred was trying to keep his breaths deep and even. How long was Arthur planning to just stay here? It was too much work to keep pretending to be asleep, and he'd never been good at hiding the obvious. Arthur would have figured it out sooner rather than later.

Slowly he opened his eyes, and as soon as he had Arthur was by his side, sitting on the bed and pressing one hand to Alfred's forehead. "How are you feeling?"

Alfred pushed aside the hand and sat up so he could lean against the headboard. "Like part of my heart was ripped out." His words were blunt, as he intended them to be.

"I see." Arthur felt a sick twist of pleasure with the sadness. After all, it was Alfred who had first torn out his heart with that silly Declaration. He had not been the one to take the first step towards destroying what they had.

He looked aside, knowing all too well what his colony was feeling.

Alfred folded his arms in front of his chest, and stubbornly ignored Arthur. It seemed like there were more and more silences between them lately. What was really annoying was how they didn't seem to bother Arthur whatsoever. Or maybe he just didn't care. Alfred didn't know.

"It will get better with time, and soon we can put this all behind us." Arthur's voice was soft, the tone unexpected. Alfred looked away from the window to him with a skeptical expression. "No, it won't, and we can't."

Arthur sighed heavily and rubbed at the bridge of his nose with his fingertips. "You haven't been around long enough, you don't understand the concept of time like I do, and the differences a few years can make."

Wha-Had Arthur really just said that? Alfred threw aside the covers and scrambled out of bed so he could stand and face Arthur. "_What?_" He felt dizzy from the sudden movement, but he wasn't going to back down now. "I understand just _fine. _When was the last time _you _were forced to be someone's colony?" Alfred could see the warning signs, knew that he should shut up, but the words just poured out.

"When did you last watch the men who gave you hope hang? Or-Or better yet when was the last time you fought for something other than your damned pride?"

Arthur was up and had closed the distance between them in the blink of an eye. He slammed the taller nation against the wall and glared up at him. "Don't you dare presume to lecture me." What had happened to the sweet child? The little boy that had been so eager to make him smile?

"Just because you claimed to be a Nation does not make it so." Green eyes nearly glowed with anger as he pushed harder against Alfred when the colony struggled, and then his face softened. "Alfred, I'm trying to understand, but you need to let these foolish dreams go."

Alfred went still. "They aren't just dreams." He whispered, voice cracking as he said so. Arthur smiled, almost sadly as he reached up with one hand and cupped the side of Alfred's face, looking at him with the pity that Alfred so hated.

"You're only hurting yourself with these delusions." His lips pressed into a firm line again and his hand fell away from Alfred's face. "You remain as _my _colony. British rule is still established, and the rest of the world has already forgotten your revolution."

No...Alfred shook his head. He shoved Arthur back, and the two glared at one another. "You're _wrong._" Alfred turned away, uncaring that he was dressed in little more than the loose breeches and too large sleep shirt.

He blocked out Arthur, and walked out of the room and down the hall. Oh he knew Arthur was shouting, but he wasn't listening anymore.

Alfred slammed open the front door and jogged towards the barn, barefoot and all.

"Alfred! What do you think you're doing? This isn't something you can just walk away from!" Arthur felt his face turn red. That impudent little...He'd been keeping an eye on him, been worried sick, and this was the thanks he got? Arthur rushed to keep up with the longer legged teen.

Just as he opened the front door he was greeted by the sight of Alfred, seated atop one of his beloved horses. The painted stallion of all things. Arthur stopped, frozen as he took in the image. It shouldn't have been remarkable, but Alfred had foregone the usual saddle and bit, and still hadn't found a pair of shoes it would seem. It had taken him _years _to get Alfred used to the proper equipment for riding a horse.

It was as though the young and free-spirited Alfred from many years ago had come back and taken residence in the present one. It was like looking back in time.

"Get down this instant." Arthur's voice was low, and had an edge to it that was usually reserved for the likes of France.

Alfred grinned, "Make me." With that he took off, the horse almost a blur as it raced down the path and towards the open plains. Arthur stood there, mouth agape. There had been a fire in Alfred's eyes that he hadn't seen in...Well, since a few of the battles when the Yanks had been victorious. It would seem that Alfred's native people and their old customs still had a hold on him.

He spun on his heel and strode back into the house. There was no chance of catching Alfred. The boy was the better rider by far. No, but he'd be back. Arthur took in a deep, calming breath. If this continued, he'd have no choice but to be harder on the boy. He just hoped Alfred would work all this nonsense out of his system.

* * *

Alfred was giddy. For once since the war had begun he truly felt the freedom he had been so desperately searching for. He threw back his head and laughed. His horse seemed to echo the sentiment with a loud whinny as they slowed to a trot.

Usually he didn't mind staying home for a while, but with Arthur there it wasn't so much a home as a prison. But Alfred didn't hate him. He tried to latch onto his anger and let it turn into something more, but every time he did a memory from before all this would surface and he'd just feel sad. Like he'd lost something.

Which brought him back to the issue of his delegates. He leaned forward over the horse's neck, arms hanging down on either side. "I can't do that again." Alfred spoke quietly, eyes closing partially as he watched the sun set over his lands.

He smiled to himself, "I know what I have to do." The painted horse turned his head enough to look at Alfred with one large brown eye. Alfred grinned, "Yep, I sure do."

The two turned around, and Alfred cast one last look over his shoulder. "Alright, let's head home." He faced forward as they backtracked.

Had it not been for the clear sky and the full moon it'd have been pitch black when they finally got home. Alfred hopped off the horse, sore since he hadn't gone riding like that in years. He brushed the stallion down and rubbed his flanks before leaving him in the barn for the eve.

He wasn't surprised to see a candle lit in the window. Alfred trudged across the lawn, but didn't bother to be quiet once he reached the front door.

And of course Arthur would know the moment he had come home. "I'm in the study."

That was Arthur-speak for 'Come in here this minute and sit your arse down.' Alfred trailed dirt and other things into the house as he headed towards the study that was generally off limits. The door was partially open so he just walked in and sat down in one of the chairs across the desk from Arthur.

Alfred watched Arthur write something up, and...Write some more, and – Did he even realize he was here? Alfred subtly shifted in his seat as he tried to get a better look at what he was writing, but the elegant script looked like chicken scratch from this angle.

After what felt like forever Arthur pushed the papers aside and fixed his gaze on the fidgety boy across from him.

The two looked at one another like that for another lengthy amount of time with Alfred occasionally looking around the study and finding something other than Arthur to stare at.

"Are these tantrums going to be a regular occurrence?" He paused, watching Alfred frown before continuing, "Or, can I expect some civil manners?"

Alfred actually had the decency to look embarrassed. "I just wanted to go for a ride." He mumbled. "Which you can't blame me, I mean you did...I did lose four of my delegates." Al stared at his lap, hands folded there.

Arthur was stunned. He had expected Alfred to throw his arms and whine and complain about how unfair it all was. Instead he was almost being complacent. There was still the attitude problem, but that was hardly noticeable when he wasn't shouting or pouting.

He sighed and shook his head, "Well next time you need some fresh air, just let me know and we can avoid any scenes, hm?" Alfred nodded his head, and looked off to the side.

Arthur was about to speak again when a knock from the front door echoed through the house. He looked to Alfred with one raised brow. He wouldn't leave the boy alone in his study.

Alfred made another face, but grudgingly got to his feet and went to see whoever it was. He opened the door and was faced with a red coat, who had an equally red face at the moment. "I'm here to speak with Mr. Kirkland."

He stepped back and let the man pass by who seemed to be trying to catch his breath still. Alfred followed after and watched from outside the study as the soldier took out a sealed envelope and passed it off to Arthur.

The house was silent except for the sound of paper being handled as Arthur unfolded the letter and began reading whatever was written there. By the time he'd finished his face was dark and those bushy brows were drawn down in anger.

He quickly pulled out another piece of paper and hastily scribbled a note, folding it and then sealing the envelope before he handed it to the waiting soldier. Said soldier turned and left the house in a hurry, not even giving Alfred a second glance.

Alfred eased his way into the study, "Something wrong?"

Arthur looked up at Alfred, "You tell me." Arthur's voice was cold again, and Alfred wasn't sure what he'd done this time to warrant it. He frowned, and shook his head a little, "I don't-"

"Don't lie to me Alfred. I am in no mood." He pressed his hand to his own forehead before getting up from the chair and grabbing his jacket off the back of it. Arthur slipped into it as Alfred tried to figure out what was wrong. "I'm not! I've never lied to you." He looked a little hurt at the insinuation.

Arthur stood in front of Alfred, and frowned at the confused colony. He let out a heavy sigh, "I have to go."

He took the cue and left the office, with Arthur trailing behind. The smaller nation closed the door with a click and mumbled something under his breath before letting go of the handle. "Get some rest, I'm sure you'll be sore from your impromptu ride in the morning."

Alfred frowned. Something sounded off with Arthur, but he probably wasn't going to be told what was going on. It had to be serious if it had Arthur jumping on him like that, something in the colonies.

He snapped out of his thoughts when the front door closed. Alfred ran down the hall to his room and quickly changed out of his clothes. He grabbed a pair of shoes this time and a jacket. From his window he could see Arthur, along with some officers on horseback ride off.

Once out of sight he turned and grabbed his rucksack. He hesitated briefly before putting the stuffed plush rabbit in the bag as well. Alfred took his time leaving the house. He stepped into the barn and smiled at the painted stallion he had ridden not long ago.

"No you should get some rest." Instead he walked over to the dappled mare that was much more easygoing. He saddled her up in record time and was out of the barn moments after having entered it.

Something was going on, and he intended to find out what.

* * *

Alfred rode towards the city, and was surprised to see how bright it was at this hour of night. Why would there be so many fires? He frowned and urged the mare forward. Most of the people were out on foot, and all seemed to be congregating together in the streets.

The closer he got the more he could hear.

"The Southern colonies aren't standing for this!"

"Not a single one of them were present, and yet we accept this as justice?"

His eyes widened and he slowed down before hopping off the horse and instead leading her closer so he wouldn't stick out as much. Alfred looked around and stopped next to a young man who looked close to his own age.

"What is going on?" Alfred asked with wide eyes.

The dark haired man turned and looked at Alfred with a smile. "You haven't heard the news?" Alfred only shook his head in mute wonder as he watched his people shout and demand liberty, as he had not long ago.

He held out a newspaper to Alfred who took it. The name of the printing company was not familiar to him, but he shrugged and looked for whatever it was that should explain all this.

His gaze fixed on the bold headings on the front page.

**Raids in the North Weaken British Hold.**

Alfred's eyes widened as he looked at another heading..

**Southern Colonies Issue Demands to the King.**

No wonder Arthur had been so angry. Though he wondered why he hadn't known about this before Arthur and his soldiers had. Usually he could feel when something was happening. Or maybe he had, and it'd simply been more subtle than what he was used to.

Alfred smiled and thanked the man as he gave him back the newspaper.

He turned and lead the mare away from the crowd so he could get home before Arthur found out he was missing.

A man bumped into him rather roughly, shoulder forcing Alfred back a couple of steps. "H-Hey!" Alfred frowned at the rude man who stopped and eyed him. He then smiled widely and patted the pocket over Alfred's chest before walking off.

That was strange...Alfred shook his head and took a few more steps - Wait a second. Alfred reached up and pulled a crumpled piece of paper out of the pocket the man had touched before.

He carefully unfolded it and walked over towards one of the many contained fires to better see.

_America,_

_It was a relief to see you alive, but circumstances prevented any of us from reaching you. You should know that the war isn't lost. Don't believe what that red coat tells you, it isn't._

_We're ready and willing, and have a plan._

_Please memorize the address below and then burn this letter. We'll be there tomorrow eve. The sooner you can get there the better._

It wasn't signed but Alfred could feel the warmth bubbling up inside. His delegates lived yet, and continued to hold true to their beliefs. Alfred felt like dancing, but he couldn't draw attention to himself.

So he burned the note as instructed and jumped into the saddle with more hope than he had dared to feel in years.

* * *

  
TA DA. In case you're wondering I see Alfred's home being just outside Philadelphia in Pennsylvania. :D HUZZAH.


	6. Chapter 5

Holy fast updates Batman! Okay in reality History Channel has been pimping out US History lately and as a result my muse went chaotic. You guys should check out their latest installment that's coming out April 25th called "America: The History of Us." I am trying not to get my hopes up too high, but it does look fantastic. Enough of my history fangirling – Onto the story!

Wait I forgot, if anyone is interested I might make a soundtrack list of the songs that keep me writing this. :D Just lemme know if you are. Thanks loves! Reviews are greatly appreciated. Now onto the story, for reals.

* * *

It didn't take long to brush down the mare and get her comfortable in the barn with the other animals. Once finished he went and sat down on the front porch, blue eyes fixed on the orange glow from the city. He sat there until the sun rose over the horizon.

Arthur still hadn't returned, and he wondered if maybe he'd be gone for the entire day. It was both a relief and somewhat strange that he'd leave and trust Alfred to not cause any trouble. So soon after the war. But if he knew Arthur, he was probably trying to fix things between them. Rebuild the broken friendship, and this was his way of doing so.

...That or he had someone hiding out to keep an eye on him, which Alfred found to be a lot more likely.

He casually got to his feet, and brushed off his pants while he glanced around. There weren't any obvious red spots that stuck out. That didn't mean they weren't hiding somewhere, but if they had wouldn't they have done something about him leaving last night? Al frowned to himself.

Sneaking around and being well, sneaky, had never been one of his best skills. Or rooting out other people who were actually good at it.

Alfred smiled to himself as he walked inside. He had the whole day to try and find any soldiers Arthur had left behind to watch him. The house was quiet, peaceful. Alfred took in a deep breath, held it, and then let it out. When Arthur was here it was so tense, and he felt – Not helpless, but dependent, and it worried him.

Being dependent on Arthur was exactly what he had fought to break free from. The war had been bloody, and he'd first hand witnessed the strength with which the British Empire fought, but it hadn't been for the same reasons. His independence was so important, still was. Alfred stopped and stared at the door to Arthur's office.

His people had felt wronged, were no longer seen as equals in their British counterparts eyes. Even Arthur had used the term 'Yanks', and that was on his better days. Alfred could see the disdain in the way the British soldiers looked at him. Nothing more than a country bumpkin with dreams.

He'd been so close to achieving those dreams, and his efforts had set the British on the run many times. It had weakened Arthur as well, he could see it in the way the older nation held himself. The way he spoke and how he seemed so tired.

Had France just stepped in, offered something more substantial than monetary aid...Alfred sighed and stepped close enough to place his hand on the doorknob. A shock ran through his fingers and he quickly let go. Well, that was one way of knowing for sure that Arthur did not want him snooping around.

Not yet then. After he met with the delegates he would consider breaking the seal and getting into the office. No doubt Arthur would be furious when he did, and so he'd bide his time.

Time moved agonizingly slow, and Alfred often found himself outside, pacing back and forth with a few rabbits hopping about him as he did. Earlier he'd found the two soldiers who'd been left behind to watch him.

It hadn't been as hard as he'd anticipated since they regularly took breaks. Sitting in a tree could be really uncomfortable if you weren't used to it. The sun was setting, and that was his cue. Alfred smirked as he walked over to one of the soldier's locations.

He stopped beneath the tree and glanced up at the redcoat who regarded him with a bored expression. "Aren't you hungry?" Alfred broke the silence with an easygoing smile.

The soldier was young, probably hadn't seen much if any of the fighting before. He didn't say anything but kept an eye on Alfred as though if he looked away for a moment he'd be gone the next.

"Com'oooon, it's boring with Arthur gone and I'm hungry so I figure I'd offer some dinner to you." Alfred explained it with a wave of one hand, and the soldier only looked at him with more skepticism. He stood there patiently, and looked fixedly at the soldier as he waited for an answer.

His staring eventually wore down the soldier's resolve, "Not to talk or interact with you. Mr. Kirkland's orders."

The kid sounded younger than he looked. Alfred rolled his eyes, "Yeah well I'm hungry," and on a tight time schedule "and I bet you're hungry so stop being stubborn. Artie isn't here anyway." Alfred hadn't planned on using that nickname again, but if it convinced the soldier that they were on better terms than they actually were...

And viola! The kid groaned and began to climb down from his perch. Alfred smiled happily and then turned and led the way back to the house, but instead he took a turn towards the back. He knelt down and pulled open the doors to the cellar.

He glanced over his shoulder, the kid looked mighty uncertain now. "Sorry, gotta grab some stuff. Mind helping?"

There was a moment of hesitation before the redcoat obliged and followed Alfred down. Alfred picked up what would be a fairly heavy bag of potatoes for anyone else and casually tossed it to the soldier. He barely caught it, and kept a hold of it.

Alfred walked over and patted him on the shoulder. "Sorry about this." The kid frowned "Wha-" and then he was out cold, Alfred's fist still hovered in the air. Alfred pulled the bag of potatoes off of him and moved him so he'd be a little more comfortable.

One down, one to go.

He closed and locked the cellar doors once he was outside again. Alfred jogged over to where the other soldier should be. He slowed to a brisk walk as he got closer to the barn. Sure enough the soldier was leaning against the side of the barn and was watching the road.

"Uhm, your friend passed out and I sorta wanna get him to a doctor or somethin' could you help me get a horse saddled up?" Alfred's words ran together, but the soldier came to attention quickly enough and was in the barn before Al even had a chance to clarify.

It seemed like neither of the soldiers were supposed to talk to him, figures. Alfred frowned and walked into the barn. The stallion flicked its head and gave the soldier what could pass for a glare. It didn't go unnoticed by the soldier who decided the mare was a safer choice for saddling.

Al fidgeted as he grabbed one of the empty wooden buckets he used to fill the horse's feed. The soldier was mumbling under his breath about how useless yanks were when Alfred made his move. He slammed the bucket down over the top of the man's head and jerked the handle under his chin.

While he was still stunned Alfred took the nearby length of rope and began tying his wrists together. He then none too gently kicked behind the soldier's knees, forcing him to the ground.

Within mere seconds he had him tied to a post in the middle of the barn, rope looped through the knots on his wrists and secured around the post behind his back. He also tied together his ankles together and knotted them, just to be safe.

The bucket muffled his shouts, but Alfred could still make out some colorful curses that would have made a sailor blush. "Sorry, sorry!" Alfred really was sorry. If Arthur hadn't left them behind he wouldn't of had to do this.

Ah well, life goes on, and it wasn't as though he had hurt them – Permanently. Maybe just their pride. Alfred went over to the stallion who, if he wasn't mistaken, was snickering. He frowned and gently patted him on the nose. "It's not funny, you wouldn't like a bucket over your head either." He chided the horse gently, who snorted in reply.

Al cracked a smile at that and then saddled the stallion. He decided that he wouldn't ride out on a whim without the proper equipment this time His thighs still burned from having done so just the other day.

When he led the stallion out of the barn the sun was just dipping beneath the horizon.

There was no time left to waste. Alfred took off at a gallop, kicking up dust in his wake as they took a direct route to the city. The address from the letter at the forefront of his thoughts.

* * *

It wasn't too difficult to find the address, but what was hard was figuring out what to do after he got there. The building was a local pub, and Alfred was at a loss for what to do once there. So he went and sat in one of the corner tables, and watched his people play cards, drink, and share stories or bits of news.

Alfred had taken to tracing the etches in the tabletop. What else was he to do? The address wasn't wrong, of that he was certain. Though the hope he'd just so recently gained was beginning to dwindle. Maybe something had happened, or it had been...A mistake.

A shadow fell across his forearms and he couldn't help but glower at whoever it was. He was slipping into a terrible mood.

Whoever it was had a hood up, which was weird. "Come on United States, we've got a lot to discuss." Their words were low, meant only for his ears, and Alfred perked up instantly. He got to his feet and followed after the cloaked man. They weaved through the drunks to the kitchen, and then up a flight of stairs to the private backrooms.

The man knocked on the door third down the hall and was given a few knock in response. He tapped twice and then the door swung open. He walked in and gestured for Alfred to do the same. Alfred took in a breath and then stepped into the candlelit room.

As soon as he stepped in the door was shut and bolted behind him, but he paid it no mind. Here he was, in a room with _his _delegates. His gaze shifted from one to another, taking them in. Among the faces were John Jay, George Clymer, and James Madison. He was frozen where he stood, happy, and shocked all at once.

Clymer was the first to get from his seat. "My dear boy!" And that was all it took. Alfred fell to his knees, shoulders shaking as he sobbed and laughed at the same time.

The men were quick to spring from their seats and rush over to their nation. He was afraid to blink, afraid that they might somehow vanish in the short span of time. "You're here! Really, really here!" Alfred was smiling, tears of joy, and especially relief falling from his eyes.

Another of his delegates, Robert Morris looked Alfred in the eyes. "Yes, yes and we're not as young and full of energy as you are. We have a long night ahead of us." The chiding remark was betrayed by the glint of humor in his eyes.

Alfred laughed and reached up to wipe at his eyes with the back of his hand, sniffing as he did. "I just missed you guys is all." And after the hangings he desperately needed reassurances of their good health.

He shakily got to his feet and sat down in a chair at the table as the delegates returned to their seats. Some stood since there wasn't enough room for everyone to sit at the table, but they didn't seem to mind.

"You've heard of the raids in the North?" This question came from Madison. Alfred nodded his head and then another delegate jumped in. "Yes well they're taking place across all the states, but the redcoats are trying to keep it quiet." The word 'redcoat' was all but spit out.

Alfred frowned and scratched at the back of his neck, trying to shift into the professional setting that he had been away from for so long. "I don't follow. What exactly are these raids?"

It was Madison again who this time shuffled the various papers across the table and took out one that was a list of some sort. He pushed it over so Alfred could read it. "Most of them are night attacks or raids when they least expect them."

"Savage tactics." Alfred mouthed the words with a grin. It was what Arthur had called them during the war. Dirty, cowardly strikes where his patriots would kill British officers first and attack the supply columns for the British army.

He glanced up, "All across the states?" Most of the delegates nodded in affirmation.

Alfred chewed on his bottom lip. "And what's with the South?" Madison looked troubled by his question. "You can't tell for yourself?" A few of the older delegates who had been closer to Alfred shared the worried expression. Alfred had been deeply connected to his country, to each state. He usually knew what was happening before they did.

Alfred shrugged a shoulder, "I'm not really sure anymore...Arth-England has been - My thoughts are all mixed up lately. I feel things, but I don't know what they are anymore." He glanced away, "Especially since..." The hangings was left unsaid.

Clymer who was sitting on one side of Alfred placed one hand on his shoulder. "No worries, it's what we're here for." He smiled reassuringly.

Madison cleared his throat, "Well then we'll fill you in on the South." He looked to Morris.

"The British are trying to take control of the plantations, and by extension the goods being produced." Alfred looked confused, and Morris continued. "Which isn't all too unusual, but they are leaving soldiers stationed there and are taking the profits of the trade. Many of the slaves are being shipped overseas to England, and they are leaving the plantations in poor conditions."

Alfred bit down on his bottom lip, "So, what you're saying is that the British are pretty much making Americans prisoners of their homes while they reap the profits of their land?"

Morris nodded, mouth set in a grim line.

"Oh, that's just gonna make them angry." Alfred knew what the Southern states could be like, and how they would fight tooth and nail for their rights. The British had no idea how close the pot was to boiling over.

Alfred sighed, "Okay so what else?"

The delegates proceeded to explain the purpose of the patriots who were attacking the supply routes and taking out key British officials with their attacks. There was a system set in place that kept them all informed of their targets, but unaware of who else was involved in each 'unit'. For safety reasons, Madison explained. The raids left the British scared and sleep deprived, among other things.

Small skirmishes were being fought much as they had before the war began, and hangings were becoming commonplace. Apparently it didn't take much to be accused of treason and hung for their crimes, or lack thereof.

Alfred nodded and listened to them with rapt attention, trying to put every detail to memory.

"We've received no word from Franklin or Adams, but if we intend to finish this as Americans then there is something we must do – With or without their help." Clymer spoke with determination lacing his words.

A silence fell over the room, and Alfred couldn't help but look around at the men and then finally to Clymer. "And that is?" He hated being out of the loop.

Clymer turned to Alfred. "We need to save George Washington." He leaned back in his chair and sighed heavily. "He is the hero of the American people. While we all played our role," Clymer made a broad gesture indicating the delegates, "Washington is the one who the people rallied behind." Alfred opened his mouth to protest but Clymer shook his head.

"No, it's true and you know it. We are fine with it, but because of his fame we can't afford to lose him. If he hangs the war is truly lost."

An uncomfortable silence followed Clymer's words, but they each knew he was right. Alfred especially. He had fought alongside the energetic and altogether fascinating General. Washington commanded attention. His height, strength, and easygoing nature drew people to him.

If he died...Alfred felt his stomach curl at the thought. "So what are we going to do?" He all but breathed the question to his delegates.

Madison nodded, "We were hoping you'd ask that."

* * *

Arthur hadn't anticipated to be gone as long as he had. It didn't feel right leaving Alfred so soon, especially when things were still so raw and wrong between them.

He'd gone to the latest location of a night raid. The wagon was still burning when he'd arrived with the other officers, and there was nothing to be done but discuss how to stop these antics. Terror was not Arthur's choice of control, but it seemed like the King felt otherwise, and he'd do as he was told. His King knew best.

Arrangements had been made and plans written down with his Generals. Arthur had reached his limit when he saw three more areas where attacks had taken place. All that was left at each were the charred remains of wagons and the bodies of British soldiers. The attacks were sickeningly familiar to those during the revolution.

If only the colonists would bloody behave it would make things so much easier.

Arthur rode home alone, having insisted his officers take guard of the roads and arrest any suspicious persons. Tired, he rode up closer to the house. First thing to do was check in with the scouts. He wished he could trust Alfred, as he once had.

He shrugged to himself and carefully got down from the horse's back and walked the rest of the way to the barn. The cool night air had likely pushed this scout inside where he could watch from the window in the loft.

He opened the large door, and lit up a lantern to better see by. Arthur almost dropped it in surprise when he saw his scout tied to a post in the middle of the barn, with a _bucket _on his head. He could feel his jaw clenching already.

Arthur strode over and roughly took the bucket off of the soldier's head. "Where is he?" His words were clipped, and the tone a prime example of why people simply did not get on Britannia's bad side.

"He took the stallion sir." The soldier squared his shoulders, trying to look as presentable as one could when tied to a post. "Headed to town I'd say. He went there last night as well."

Arthur straightened and walked back to his horse.

"Are - Are you going to leave me here?" The soldier asked, clearly unsure of what to do. Arthur didn't look over his shoulder as he replied, "Consider it your punishment for being so bloody stupid." Honestly. He had told them _exactly_ what not to do concerning the colony, and obviously they hadn't listened.

Arthur didn't even want to try and find the other scout, no doubt Alfred had done something equally embarrassing to him. It'd only frustrate him more. The fools could deal with the consequences of their actions for the rest of the night.

He swung himself into the saddle and set off at a gallop towards the city. If Alfred would only behave through force, then by God he'd use it.

* * *

Alfred's eyes were drooping. His head rested in the palm of his hand, elbow balanced on the table. He kept drifting off and would jerk awake only when he began leaning on Clymer next to him. How did they stay up so late and function?

He yawned, for what was probably the hundredth time that night.

Madison smiled, "I think we should let our young charge return home before he drools all over important documents."

Alfred jerked awake, "No 'Ahm awake." His words slurred somewhat, and the delegates shared a laugh at his expense, but even Alfred smiled. "Please Alfred, we'll have plenty of time to discuss, and already we've touched the most important issues." Alfred wasn't sure which delegate said that.

Clymer gently took Alfred by the elbow and got him to his feet. "And we should be getting our rest as well, it will be dawn soon."

He nodded and headed for the door. Alfred stopped and turned once there, looking each of his delegates in the eyes. "Be careful, I can't handle another...I can't." His voice choked off before he could finish. Another hanging might make him snap, and he couldn't let them down.

Madison walked over and placed both hands on Alfred's shoulders. "Stand strong son. Remember who you are." _United States of America._

Alfred nodded and patted one of Madison's hands. With one last look he turned and left the room, stumbling down the stairs and out towards the holding area where his horse had been taken care of for the evening.

The stallion looked bored with his surroundings and snorted in Alfred's hair as a greeting. "Mornin' to you too." Alfred took the reins and walked out and into the streets. He didn't trust himself to ride just yet, best to walk and get the blood pumping again.

Alfred was too tired to even notice the sound of a horse clip clopping closer.

"Enjoying yourself?"

Alfred's blood went cold. Adrenaline shot through his body and he was suddenly wide awake.

"Uh oh."

* * *

HISTORY TIME! Okay so some of the delegates mentioned here have a special place in my History heart. You might recall George Walton from the earlier chapter. The last delegate to hang. Walton, along with George Clymer and Robert Morris were the only delegates to stay behind when Sir Henry Clinton(British General) threatened to overtake Philadelphia. The rest of congress got the hell outta dodge, so to speak. The British made a point of destroying Clymer's home, which sucks. Robert Morris is also mentioned. He's a super awesome financial guy who loaned **10,000 **dollars to Washington during the war. Aweeesome. I included John Jay because he, like Madison is a key Founding Father of America. Also I love the awkward moments that no doubt take place between him and Madison due to opposing views on certain topics.


	7. Chapter 6

Hello everyone! I've decided to add a prize for a lucky reviewer! It'll be for a certain number, I.E the 27th, 30th reviewer. It could be for any review from 21-31. So if I make it the 26th, then whoever is my 26th reviewer gets the prize. (So good luck! :D) I'll write a Hetalia one-shot of their choice, if they want. :] Should they decide not to then it goes to the reviewer before and so on and so forth. HUZZAH.

Special thanks to Yuna's Aeon and PureWhiteMagic. Your reviews are so nice. T_T

* * *

There was no mistaking that voice, but the tone was distinctly different from the one he was used to hearing. No doubt Arthur reserved it for when he was very mad. Alfred supposed this was one of those moments.

He didn't move, just looked ahead and hoped that maybe he was just _really _tired and hearing things. Yeah that was it.

Arthur urged the horse forward, and Alfred knew there was no mistaking it for his imagination. Oh crap.

He pressed closer against the stallion's side, the reins slipping from his fingers as he held onto the saddle instead. His mind was screaming at him to do something, anything, but his body apparently wasn't listening.

Alfred was now pressed between two horses, with Arthur sitting tall atop his own. Al opted for staring at the ground, worried about what he'd see when he looked at Arthur's face.

"Get on." Arthur's words were clipped short. Each syllable enunciated.

His face heated up but he didn't say anything, and turned to pull himself into the saddle.

"I didn't say 'your horse'."

Alfred bit down on his bottom lip and glanced over his shoulder to look up at Arthur. He wasn't serious was he? The cold, detached expression didn't give him much hope.

"What?" He asked dumbly.

Arthur regarded him with a cool gaze, appearing calm despite the bubbling anger just beneath the surface. The way Alfred acted only confirmed that the boy knew he'd done something wrong, and that he'd willingly done so just made Arthur feel so, so...Hurt, and betrayed. Thankfully the anger overwhelmed the pain.

After letting Alfred fidget uncomfortably for a while Arthur spoke again, "I'll lead your horse as you clearly can't be trusted. Get-On." There was no questioning the command in those last two words.

Alfred hesitated, looking over towards the pub where he noticed a few figures sneaking off and then back to Arthur. "But what-" He snapped his mouth shut when Arthur narrowed his eyes. Lately he had been witness to the sides of Arthur he hadn't ever known existed. The looks the nation were capable of spoke a thousand untold words.

Most of which were really, _really _angry right now.

Alfred bit down on his tongue but handed Arthur the reins of his horse anyway. After shoving down his pride Alfred grabbed the saddle and pulled himself up behind Arthur. He sat back as far as he could, face warm with embarrassment.

His fingers dug into the back of the saddle, knuckles white as he tried to keep from touching Arthur as much as possible. It wasn't like Arthur could even know what he'd been doing in town, and if he so much as suspected it – Al figured he'd be in a lot more trouble.

The short ride home was awkward. It was increasingly so when they got home and Alfred had to brush down both his and Arthur's horse under the scrutiny of the soldier still tied to the post. Having that glare focused on him left an itch between his shoulder blades the whole time.

When both horses were clean and had feed he went over and began untying the mess of knots he'd used to keep the soldier tied to the post.

"Don't touch those damn Yank!" Al rocked back onto his heels for a moment. "You _want _to stay tied up like this?" Alfred didn't get it. The soldier scoffed, "Kirkland's orders, so bugger off."

Alfred was surprised that Arthur would willingly leave the man tied to a post just because of what he'd done. It wasn't like the soldier knew what he'd been planning. He shrugged to himself and finished working out the knots of rope.

"Well you're more than welcome to sit here, but I don't want this rope just sawed through because you redcoats don't know how to make a knot." Or untie one. Alfred smiled as he teased the soldier, who let loose a bark of laughter at Alfred's remark.

Once finished he got to his feet and brushed off his hands, "Mkay then no hard feelings right?" Alfred waved as he walked out of the barn, the soldier still sitting against the post.

"Tying knots. Such a Yank." The man kept mumbling to himself, and Alfred couldn't help but laugh a little. Well, at least that one wasn't too angry with him. Time to make amends with the one he'd left in the cellar. Arthur had told him to go straight into the house after taking care of the horses, but Alfred had finished that quickly so he probably wouldn't notice.

Al hurried over to the cellar, unlocking the doors and opening them so he could lean in. "The doors are unlocked, but uhm I wouldn't come out until daylight." No reply. Oh well, he had tried at least.

He closed the cellar doors, and hesitated as he turned to the house. Arthur had been silent the entire ride home. That was a bad sign. Usually Arthur would shout, or call him all sorts of insulting names, but not this time.

There was no telling just how mad Arthur was. Well, might as well get it over with.

He took in a deep breath before entering the house. Arthur wasn't in his office this time, but sitting in the small room just off of the kitchen. He sat in the elaborate looking chair that was from some British designer or something. It looked out of place in the rustic home.

Arthur had a pot of tea next to him, and what looked like an untouched steaming cup as well. Dark green eyes flicked over to Alfred briefly and then to the chair across from him. The meaning wasn't lost on Alfred, subtle as it was.

He trudged over and sat down in the chair opposite Arthur, the ticking of the grandfather clock the only sound aside from the tapping of Al's foot.

Alfred glanced between the teapot to Arthur to the clock and then finally to the ground. He didn't want to be the first to say something. This was probably Arthur's way of making him nervous, drawing out the inevitable. It was working.

Now Arthur was looking at him, and the tension seemed to get even worse. He cracked under the pressure. "I don't see why you're so mad." Alfred's voice was hushed as he spoke.

Arthur didn't so much as blink at the response. "No?" He phrased it as though he were curious, but the one word sent a shiver down Alfred's spine. Arthur placed one elbow on the arm of the expensive looking chair, arm bent up so he could rest his chin atop his knuckles.

"Then enlighten me as to why you decided to not only tie up my soldiers, but go into town when you'd apparently been there the night before." Arthur folded one leg over the other, and Alfred felt like he wasn't talking to Arthur anymore, but to the British Empire.

Alfred frowned, "I only tied up one of them!" He flinched when Arthur raised one large eyebrow, but plowed on anyhow, "The other was locked in the cellar and it wasn't their fault that I-" He was cut off when Arthur raised his other hand, cutting him off from saying anything further.

"They had orders, and they disregarded them." One corner of Arthur's lips lifted slightly. "Are you telling me how to deal with my own men?"

That was when Alfred realized how thin of ice he was treading on. He shook his head quickly, glancing down, "I just feel bad for them." It was his fault that they were in trouble with Arthur. A loud laugh jerked Alfred's gaze back up.

"What's so funny?" He could tell when he was the brunt of a joke, and he definitely was right now.

Just as abruptly the laughing stopped and Arthur leaned forward. "Do you know why you lost the war Alfred?" He asked it as though they were discussing the weather. "Or maybe why you still treat my soldiers with such compassion?"

Alfred frowned and began to scoot the chair he was in backwards. One of Arthur's legs lashed out and he dragged the chair closer to him, his foot wrapped around the front leg. The display of casual strength left Alfred gaping at the smaller man.

"Because you are loyal." The small smile from before was now a blatant smirk. "The loyalists of your people were greater than you had thought, and still remain loyal to the Crown." And by extension, Arthur.

Alfred had...He had felt the loyalists before. The guilt in the back of his mind that gnawed at his sanity on some nights during the war, but they hadn't been that prominent.

The overwhelming demand for freedom from his people was greater than that of the loyalists. Alfred frowned softly. "Your soldiers are people, like mine. Just because they're British has nothing to do with it..." Alfred didn't sound too certain anymore.

"Oh I think it has everything to do with it." Arthur, on the other hand sounded confident. "In fact your loyalists continue to help. Some even lead the hunt for your patriots." Just like the delegates had spat the word redcoats earlier that evening, Arthur did the same of 'patriots.'

Something in him snapped. If the loyalists were stronger than his patriots – Then what of the delegates? Was all their planning for nothing? Alfred's shoulders slumped forward and his head fell.

This was worse than anything he could have expected from Arthur. He was anticipating shouts or even physical fighting, but not this reminder of the older nation's authority over him. Of his people's dedication to the tyranny that King George embodied.

Alfred was dragged from his thoughts when Arthur's hands cupped the sides of his face. Their eyes met.

"Is it so terrible to be a colony, _my _colony?" The British Empire was gone, and Alfred was looking at the Arthur he remembered. Alfred briefly considered telling Arthur how it felt to have his lands used for his profit, to be nothing more than another landmark on the map of the world. Another colony of Arthur's.

No. Even if he were to tell him, to explain in great detail how much he longed for freedom – Arthur would never understand. He wanted to be so much more, and he wanted to share his people's brilliance with the world. To spread the ideals of democracy, of the equality they so desired.

A mere colony could never do that.

Even if there were loyalists, and even if they demanded to be heard; Alfred had to trust in his delegates, and had to hope that this time they would be heard above the British sympathizers.

"I can't...Stay here, locked up." Alfred danced around the question about being Arthur's colony. He couldn't flat out lie to Arthur, and if he told him the truth...

Arthur's hands dropped away from Alfred's face. Alfred's blunt avoidance of answering his question was so obvious it hurt. He didn't press the issue though. "Of course not, which is why you'll be returning to England with me."

Alfred couldn't have been more surprised, "But this is my-Our land," he corrected himself quickly, "and if neither of us is here..." He didn't follow Arthur's logic.

Arthur reached over and took a small sip of the tea that was much cooler than before. "It is only until the other delegates are found. Then we'll return, but I believe a change of scenery will improve your mood."

"When?" Alfred was trying to be as cooperative as possible. He could handle Arthur, knew what to expect with him. The angry and manipulative side of him from before left Alfred uncertain, and vulnerable.

Arthur had grabbed a book off of the small side table next to his chair and began to read it. "Three days from now."

Alfred almost gasped. Three days? This was going to make things a lot more difficult.

He got up from the chair, which was hard to do without bumping into Arthur since they were so close. "I should go pack then."

All he got for a response was a noncommittal 'hm' from Arthur. He sighed softly and then walked away, palms wet.

Once in his room he looked down to his hands. He hadn't realized that during the conversation his fingers had been curled so tightly that his nails had left small crescent shaped cuts in his skin.

Alfred grabbed a washcloth off the bedside table and began scrubbing at the blood.

Three days.

He tossed the slightly red washcloth aside once done. Three days met that he'd have to make his move soon. The delegates would no doubt be surprised. This wasn't supposed to happen so quickly, but he had little choice in the matter.

Alfred reached for the rabbit on the desk and held it to his chest. He sat on the edge of his bed while thinking about what Ar-The British Empire had said.

_"Do you know why you lost the war Alfred?"_

The words kept ringing over and over in his head. If the delegates were to be believed, then the war wasn't over. Maybe in the minds of the British, but the American people were still fighting.

That meant that he had the upper hand. The last thing Arthur, or his generals expected was a revival of the patriots within the colonies. Even with the nightly raids and the Southerners speaking out, it seemed as though they were isolated incidents. The dying remnants of a revolution.

But the delegates knew better. Alfred knew better. He held on tighter to the plush bunny and then held it out at arms length, looking at it sadly.

His fingertips trailed across the stitches that adorned its neck, the black thread sticking out against the white fur.

He then laid back on his bed and drifted off to sleep. The plush rabbit was cradled against his chest, body curled protectively around it.

* * *

Alfred groaned, still sleepy despite the sun pouring in through his window. It wasn't too late in the morning, which meant he'd only gotten a few hours of sleep. When was the last time he'd gotten a full nights rest?

Another sleepy moan and he was sitting up, stretching one arm towards the ceiling while the other instinctively held onto the small stuffed rabbit. He rubbed at one eye, and wondered when he'd thought to grab a blanket to cover himself with. Alfred pulled the quilt up so he could look at it more closely. This wasn't one he kept anywhere in his room.

Then he heard the soft breathing. He looked up to find Arthur sitting in a chair, chin resting against his chest as he slept. Alfred's chest tightened, and he tried to force the warm feeling to go away.

He sat there, quilt around his shoulders and watched Arthur sleep. It wasn't long before Arthur woke up and noticed the young blond gazing at him. He felt his face heat up a little, but kept a calm face as he faced the colony.

Arthur got to his feet, acting as though this were completely normal. "Would you like some breakfast?" He asked while he pushed the chair back under the small desk.

Alfred nodded, and murmured a quiet yes. He looked down to the rabbit and set it aside. Today was going to be a long day. He washed up quickly and put on some clothes that didn't, as Arthur put it 'reek of horse sweat.'

By the time he got to the kitchen there was what looked like burnt scones (ugh) and tea set out on the table. Arthur was dressed in his military uniform and had apparently already eaten. How did he get dressed and eat so quickly?

"Some of my Generals will be arriving today to discuss private matters." Alfred could read the implicit message in his statement. 'Don't cause any trouble.' He hadn't expected Arthur to have any important gatherings in his home. Then again maybe Arthur just didn't want to let Alfred out from under his nose again.

That would make things _a lot_ more complicated.

Alfred nodded his head and sat down to eat. He should have offered to make something instead. Some fried hash with eggs maybe. His stomach growled at the thought. Maybe another time. He set to eating while Arthur read papers that were probably important, occasionally glancing over to Alfred.

"Today you should consider cleaning out the barn and getting anything ready for when we leave." Arthur knew all too well how messy Alfred tended to be.

"Mkay." Alfred said through a mouthful of food which earned him a glare from Arthur. He rolled his eyes and swallowed the food before repeating. "Okay." That seemed to appease the Brit, and then Alfred headed for the front door so he could get started on the barn.

It'd give him time to think, and figure out a way to sneak out without Arthur finding out too quickly. Or at all preferably.

On his walk across the yard he saw the Generals who Arthur was expecting ride in, sitting proud atop their horses. He frowned and stopped when they rode by, none giving him so much as a passing glance.  
Stuffy redcoats.

Alfred opened both the doors to the barn and then the stall doors, letting the various animals out to roam the land. They never traveled far, and if they did it usually was only to the nearby stream. He sighed and partially shoved a cow out of its stall. Stubborn animal.

He grabbed at a shovel and set to work with the less savory of cleaning first. Maybe the hard work would give him some kind of inspiration on what to do. Alfred rolled his eyes. Or maybe he was being creative in trying to make chores seem more useful.

Alfred had taken up the entire morning and better part of the afternoon cleaning the barn, both inside and out. He currently laid sprawled out in the grass, his upper body propped against the stallion's side who was laying down behind him. The squeak of the front door caught his attention and he craned his neck up to see who was leaving.

The Generals filed out of _his _house with Arthur as the last to leave, but he stopped on the porch while the rest began hoisting themselves onto their horses.

He couldn't hear what they were saying from this distance, but he could see the frustration on their faces, especially Arthur's. The Generals then turned and rode off. Arthur stared out after them, apparently lost in his thoughts.

Arthur snapped back to reality and looked over towards Alfred. He made his way over and grimaced when he noticed the piece of straw hanging out of Alfred's mouth. "That is disgusting." Alfred merely smiled, and the stallion snorted.

Apparently the meeting had left Arthur tired because he didn't nag him any further about it. "Are you hungry?"

Alfred cringed at the thought of putting more of Arthur's food into his stomach in one day. "I've got some stuff to do yet. Just taking a break. You go ahead, I'll grab something later." He held his breath while waiting for a reply.

Arthur shrugged his shoulders, "I'll be in my office." Then turned and walked back to the house, the front door squeaking shut behind him.

"Bleh, I'm so hungry I'd eat some of your hay." Alfred's head thumped back against the stallion's side. His horse let out a heavy breath. "Okay maybe not." He added with a smile.

Alfred stood up and brushed off his pants. He wanted to get moving before it was too dark. So he went and put the rest of the animals back in their proper stalls, and made sure they had more than enough feed and water for the night.

Alright, he could do this.

He walked back to the house, and down the hall. Arthur's door was shut, but he had said he would be inside. Alfred raised one hand and knocked twice.

A muffled 'yes' reached him and he opened the door a little.

"I'm going to make some tea, and thought I'd ask if you want some." He said the words quickly, and anyone but Arthur probably wouldn't have understood what he'd said.

Arthur's head twitched up in surprise, eyebrows raised high on his forehead. "_You _are going to make tea?"

Alfred rolled his eyes and shrugged his shoulders already knowing what to say. "We're out of coffee."

Understanding settled over Arthur's features and he relaxed once more. He nodded, "Then yes, by all means."

Alfred spun and closed the door while going towards the kitchen to make the tea. He closed his eyes tightly. This was it, no turning back.

He set the kettle above the open fire and began making tea, just as Arthur had taught him so long ago. His eyes reflected the flames, orange clashing against the blue. After it had steeped long enough he reached into the pocket of his vest and took out the small pouch that Madison had given him at the meeting.

One last deep breath and he poured the crushed herbs into the bottom of the teacup Arthur favored. He poured the tea over it and they dissolved from view. Alfred then poured himself a cup of the dark liquid.

He placed both cups and kettle on a tray before returning to Arthur's study. Memories of doing this when he was much smaller came to mind, and he shoved them away.

Alfred balanced the tray and opened the door without too much of a struggle, and then set the tray down on the desk Arthur was still seated behind. Unlike Alfred's, his desk was immaculate and with only a pile of papers in one corner.

He sat down and took his own cup, fingers curling around the warmed porcelain. "Two sugars right?" Alfred couldn't keep the nervousness from his voice as he looked up to Arthur, who seemed mildly amused by the question, or maybe just the whole scene.

"Two sugars." Arthur said with a nod as he took his own cup and began to sip at the tea. He looked surprised, "You actually remember how to make proper tea." Astonishing.

Alfred made a face, "Yeah." He managed to take a sip of the tea without gagging, but it burned all the way down his throat.

"So whatchya working on?" Alfred asked curiously, his heart beating against his ribcage and feeling like it might burst at any moment.

Arthur looked at him, "It wouldn't interest you." He then took another drink of the tea, but soon after set it down in front of him.

"Alfred," He began slowly, looking at the colony with concern. "I know it's been tense lately, and we haven't properly..." Arthur trailed off, looking a little uncertain of how to proceed, "I wish for us to speak plainly." This time when Arthur paused he looked tired.

"I just wanted to let you know-" And then his entire upper body collapsed over the desktop, the tea cup precariously tilting before setting itself right again.

Alfred stared at his unconscious mentor, and was both relieved and sad about the timing of the drug. What had Arthur been about to say? Or was it better he hadn't heard?

No matter. Alfred made a beeline for his room, and grabbed the rucksack he'd already packed. He picked up the plush rabbit on the way out and made one last stop in Arthur's study.

He set the rabbit down on the desk so it would be facing Arthur when he woke up. Which wouldn't be for a long while. He'd used way more than necessary to knock the Brit out.

"I'm not sorry, not about what I have to do." Alfred spoke bravely, knowing that he wouldn't be heard. "But...I am sorry, that we can't have what we did before." He patted the bunny on the head, and gave one last look to Arthur before he ran out of the office, and the house.

No turning back.

* * *

Historical note time! The Loyalists in this story had more of an impact than in real life history. Historians have estimated the loyalists to only be about 18-20% of the colonists, but then again some Historians argue that the patriots were a small percentage of the colonists and had better advertising so to speak that got more people on their side.

Regardless the war was not cut and dry. Many people lost their homes, and I imagine things would remain tense between loyalists and patriots. Especially so if the loyalists won.

As for what herb(s) were used to knock poor Arthur out I won't go in depth over. The amount and herbs themselves are potentially lethal to us regular people, but to personified nations? Probably just knock them out for a while.


	8. Chapter 7

First off, congratulations to Charley the Plant! I drew 23 as the random review number. Their Hetalia oneshot is titled 'To the Victor Belong the Spoils' and is on my profile should anyone decide they want to read it. If you guys ever have any ideas for stories or feel like making a request, just PM me. :3

Second off – Sorry for the amount of time this took. Finals are crazy time yes?

* * *

Alfred had left his stallion all saddled up in the barn. He wasn't taking any chances, even if he was fairly confident about Arthur not waking up anytime soon. He passed by the other stalls and paused to rub the top of the mare's nose. Arthur would be mad, probably livid, but he knew he wouldn't do anything to the animals, or the home.

Well, hopefully not the house. Even if it did hold some bad memories, they had built it together and it was the only home he knew. Alfred blew out a breath, and then went over to unlatch the stall where the stallion was waiting.

"Hope you're ready Misun," he paused for a second, "because I'm not entirely sure I am." Misun tilted his head and snorted in Alfred's ear as he bumped against the side of the blond's head.

With that final nudge of encouragement he led him out into the yard, letting go of the reins long enough to push the barn doors closed. It was beginning to get dark, and while the night would give him the cover of darkness it'd make him look a lot more suspicious. This was going to require some serious subtlety.

..And being subtle was not one of his strong points.

Ah well no time to linger on the bad. He swung up into the saddle with the natural ease and grace that always seemed to frustrate Arthur and leaned forward. A steady pace would be best for now. Misun seemed to agree and casually began to lope down the worn path from the house to the road.

By the time they reached the city it was dark enough for candles to be lit and most people were locking up their stores and going home for the night. Alfred glanced up to the tavern that he'd just been in the other night and smiled to the stable boy who looked less than happy about seeing the stallion again.

"Be nice." Alfred reminded Misun before hopping off and handing the reins over to the boy who wearily took them.

Alfred watched as his horse was led away where he'd at least be kept comfortable until they had to ride out later.

He walked into the pub that was just beginning to fill up for the evening and then to the back kitchens, keeping an eye out for the owner. Alfred nearly ran into the well-built man as he lugged sacks of produce up from the cellar.

"Woah there lad, don't want to be gettin' underfoot 'round here." Alfred stepped back hastily and got out of the taller (and larger) man's way as he set the vegetables down on a counter and turned back to him. Recognition lit up in his eye and gestured Alfred closer.

Alfred walked over, the sounds of the kitchen and staff so loud he almost didn't hear the man as he whispered.

"They said you'd be back, and that I was to give ye a horse and have everything all ready – But so soon?" Alfred smiled at the man, whose name he'd been told was Gabriel. It took a brave soul to harbor delegates and plot the sort of treason they had in mind.

He fidgeted on his feet and then leaned in closer to Gabriel, "Yeah, something came up and it had to be now or never. I'm sorry." The bearded man shook his hands at Alfred, "Oh no no sorrys here. It's just a surprise is all."

That wasn't good to hear. Alfred frowned. Had he gotten everything done in time? Gabriel seemed to pick up on Alfred's unease and his hands waved even more frantically, "Surprised, but I did my duty. Everything you need is ready."

Gabriel walked over to the back door and opened it. His head poked out and looked back and forth for a moment and then he was back in the kitchen and taking a cloak off a nearby hook. He offered it to Alfred, "You've done more than enough already..." Alfred began, blue eyes locked on the dark fabric for some reason.

"Pft!" Gabriel forcefully pressed the cloak into Alfred's grasp. "It was my son's." His eyes took on a faraway look, and Alfred hugged the folded fabric closer for a moment. "He fought in the war."

Alfred's comment brought the man out of his reverie and he nodded proudly. "M'boy was part of night raids. It would do you better than a sentimental old man."

There wasn't anything he could say that would lessen the pain of Gabriel's loss. So he shook out the cloak and then fastened it around his neck. "Thanks, for everything. You're helping your country." Alfred almost smiled at the hidden truth in his words.

"I'd like to think so." And with that Gabriel ushered him out the door, and helpfully added, "Pull up the hood, else ye'll glow like a lantern!" Before shutting the door and leaving Alfred alone in the back alley.

With a frown he reached up and tugged at a piece of fair hair so he could look at it better. Being blond was not so great for sneaking around. Alfred did as instructed and gathered the hood up so it would hide his hair, and most of his face.

Operation break out Washington was officially underway.

Alfred hurried down the alley and slipped between buildings and tried to keep out of any soldiers line of sight. He nearly ran into two redcoats as he cut across the road to get closer to the prison. At the last possible moment he ducked into a doorway and pressed himself flat against it as they passed.

"-Heard that more men have gone missing up North?" He strained to hear what they were talking about.

"The damn Yanks aren't worth all this trouble." The other soldier responded, voice somewhat deeper. "Should kill the lot of them if they weren't good at farming, simpletons." The malice oozed from his words, and Alfred felt his fingers curl into fists at his sides. It'd be so easy to just step out and...

Alfred let out a quiet sigh and watched as the men walked on past him and further down the street, taking a turn and disappearing from his sight. That was too close, and he'd been about ready to tackle the one and...Alfred didn't really want to think about just how mad he'd been. Was this how his people felt? How the heck had they kept from retaliating?

He shook his head to try and clear it and then eased out of the doorway. After a cursory glance in each direction he crossed through the last alley and stopped at the opening, standing across from the guarded prison house.

There were two soldiers outside the front entrance, as he'd been told. Alfred stepped out and walked down the street a ways before cutting across and then backtracking so he'd come up behind the prison. Going in the front would have been stupid, and was what he'd been planning until he'd met with the delegates.

As he approached the back of the building a redcoat came to attention and gave a jaunty wave to Alfred.

He made a mental note to never get on the bad side of any of his delegates. They had more connections than he had ever realized. A brief nod and then the young man was unlocking the large lock and slipping into the prison, with a wave for Alfred to follow.

Once inside a uniform was tossed to him. Alfred bit down on the inside of his cheek to keep from making any remarks about having to wear the thing.

Apparently his facial expression was more telling because the undercover soldier laughed softly and whispered, "I know, but it's not too bad. Burn it later."

He cracked a smile and began to change, as quickly as he could. His clothes were then stuffed into the rucksack he still had slung across his chest. This was it. His palms felt sweaty, and he could feel his heart racing. He looked to the soldier and nodded his head, "I'm ready."

The red headed soldier nodded in return and they began to walk down the dark hallway and then a flight of stairs.

Eventually they came to an iron gate and the soldier fished out the ring of keys once more. After the door was unlocked he swung it open. They passed many cells, all unoccupied, and at the end of the hall there was a door with two soldiers standing guard.

The closer they got, the more rigid the guards seemed to stand. They stared straight ahead, then slowly looked at one another then to Alfred and the other 'redcoat.'

Just when Alfred was about to say something, his undercover Patriot spoke, "Red moon out tonight, bloody gives you the creeps, yeah?" He had a _perfect _British accent. Alfred's mouth almost opened in surprise, but he kept his lips pressed tightly together.

After that comment the soldiers seemed to relax. Password of some kind? How much time had it taken to get this all set up...? Apparently the delegates had been preparing long before Alfred had run into them.

The two soldiers tipped their heads as they walked past, remaining silent and still somewhat tense. Alfred looked over to the soldier who placed a finger against his lips in the classic 'sh' gesture. They waited, and listened. Eventually the click of the gate being locked reached their ears followed by footsteps up the stairs.

A nod and then the soldier pulled out a different set of keys and began unlocking the locks on the door. Three different ones in total. Arthur had been serious about keeping Washington locked up.

He turned the key in the final lock and grabbed the metal ring to pull the door open. Alfred stood off to the side, and peered into the dark cavern that was the cell they'd kept Washington in.

The smell of sweat, and other unpleasant things reached him and he vainly searched for motion of any kind. He took a hesitant step in, "Geo-"

He didn't quite finish what he was saying as a pair of manacle clad hands wrapped around his neck and the chain dug harshly into his skin. Instantly his hands flew up and fingers wrapped around the chain links.

"Washington!" A voice hissed, the soldier who'd helped them. "It's _him. _Let go! We're getting you out of here." The British accent was gone, replaced by the mild American vowels Alfred was accustomed to hearing.

Then blessed air was filling his lungs and he fought to keep from hacking or making any noise. Hands on his shoulders spun him around and Alfred was forced to look up somewhat at his General. He smiled despite the lingering pain around his throat.

"Fancy seeing you here." Alfred used the familiar greeting that he and George Washington had exchanged on the battlefield whenever they crossed paths.

Alfred was still squinting, but enough light leaked in for him to finally see what had become of George. His heart clenched painfully. The strong figure from before had diminished. The image he'd had in his mind was that of the tall General who commanded attention wherever he went. Not many were willing to face Washington. He was far more muscled and had a great height advantage on most everyone.

Instead he was facing a tall and almost gangly looking man. What was usually a clean shaven face had accumulated a decent stubble, and his light brown hair hung limply around his eyes.

"Oh, George." Alfred couldn't believe they'd done this to him. To _his _General. He was becoming more familiar with anger than he had in many years. George smiled at Alfred, and finally returned the greeting.

"Never thought I'd run into you." The response gave Alfred hope. They hadn't broken him. George still retained his memories, his thoughts, and most importantly the personality that drew people to him.

The soldier clicked his tongue to the top of his mouth, "You'll have plenty of time to catch up later." He tossed a key to Alfred, "Unlock him and let's move."

George raised his hands up and angled them so Alfred could slide the key in and unlock the iron shackles. There were red chafe marks around his wrists, and Alfred couldn't help but stare at the raw skin. "It's not as bad as it looks." George reassured him, his voice much softer than Alfred recalled.

Alfred didn't say anything, afraid that his voice might crack – Or worse, if he did. Instead he turned and they walked out of the cell. The other man closed the door and locked it again. Alfred smiled tensely and the trio walked briskly back the way they'd come.

George leaned heavily on Alfred as they walked along, and Alfred kept an arm securely around his waist. There was an obvious limp to his gait, and dried blood was crusted on his clothes. Hopefully he wasn't hurt too badly.

They stopped at the iron gate and the other man reached through and deftly unlocked the door with the keys once more. When Alfred helped George through he closed and locked it. It took longer than Alfred would have liked to get up the stairs, and he was worried about whether or not George would be able to ride a horse.

When they reached the back door the undercover agent tipped an invisible hat to them, "I'll take care of some last minute things. You two get a move on."

Before Alfred could thank him the kid had spun around and was gone. He shook his head to himself and helped George into the cloak he'd been given from Gabriel. It was a little short, but it at least concealed his identity.

His stallion was waiting out back, and another horse was all saddled up next to him. Thank goodness for Gabriel and his loyal staff. "George, can you ride just a little ways?"

The General scoffed, "Of course I can. I may be a tad black and blue but I'm not out of this war. Not yet." Alfred smiled and the two hobbled over to the dark brown horse. He was surprised when George managed to get atop the horse with little help necessary.

Alfred hoisted himself up atop Misun and began to lead the way through the maze of back alleys that would eventually let out at the port.

The two rode side by side, taking up most of the narrow paths, but Alfred wouldn't feel right if Gorge was forced to be behind or take point. He felt better with his General by his side, where he hadn't been for months now.

After a long while of riding in silence, Alfred reached over with one hand and placed it atop Washington's. He told himself it was to reassure the General. Really though, he needed desperately to know that George was there. Truly, physically, there. The simple contact was like a soothing balm, and he felt some of the tension coiled between his shoulder blades release.

The General knew enough about his nation to keep quiet, and kept his focus ahead while Alfred got his composure back.

Narrow alleys eventually widened out and the air got colder as they approached the port.

"Bet ya don't know where we're headed." Alfred said with a smile.

Though he couldn't see George's face he could sense his surprise. The way he jerked and turned towards Alfred. "Leaving? We're leaving?"

Alfred made a face, "Yeah. I didn't want to either but the del-They assured me it's for the best, and I kind of agree with them now." He could feel the waves of frustration rolling off of Washington and quickly added, "It won't be for long. Just to get some help."

That didn't seem to make George any happier about the whole thing, but then Alfred had taken the reins from his hands and was leading their horses towards one of the many boats docked in the port.

They got closer to the boat and a small chuckle from George had Alfred smiling to himself as well. "Hancock. Still smuggling I see." George mumbled this under his breath as a nondescript sailor came out and greeted them. The two got off their horses, Washington with a little more difficulty and the two mounts were led aboard the ship.

"It serves its uses." Alfred replied as they looked at one of the many ships John Hancock had managed to keep under the redcoats noses.

They were escorted onto the ship by another sailor. It was strange to see the almost silent chaos that took place as the men ran about to get the ship moving and out of the port. Despite all the movement the only sounds were that of the waves lapping against the sides of the boat.

Alfred watched on curiously, looking away only when George groaned quietly. The General smiled, "Tad sore." Oh. How could he have forgotten?

"There's a doctor on board." Alfred took George's elbow and gently led him towards the captains quarters were he'd been told a doctor would be waiting to treat Washington, should there be a need. And he was fairly certain there was one.

The ship was clearly on its way as walking became a little more difficult and the floor began to tilt at strange angles now and then. Alfred _hated _sailing.

Alfred knocked once on the door when he reached the cabin and then it was opened from inside. The obvious captain was hunched over a desk in the corner, with what looked like a _pirate _hat on his head. Alfred stopped and stared.

He almost didn't notice when the doctor came over and took George from him. He laid the injured man out on an extra cot that had been set up.

The captain was busy mumbling to himself and rather abruptly got up and walked right past Alfred out to the deck. So much for making acquaintances.

Alfred turned to kneel down beside the cot. The doctor had already cut open the bloodied and dirty undershirt that might have been white once. His eyes widened when he saw the lacerations and bruises that littered George's torso.

The doctor didn't look happy about it either, "Broken rib, or two from how it feels." He shoved his glasses up the bridge of his nose with one shoulder while his hands pressed in at different spots and felt for any other broken bones.

"You shouldn't have ridden." Alfred said this between clenched teeth, trying to keep from crying in front of his General. "You could have punctured a lung or somethin'."

The bright blue eyes of Washington were closed tight but he managed a smile, "Well I sure wasn't riding side saddle to you. Never hear the end of it if I had."

That got a small hiccup of a laugh from Alfred. "That'd have been a sight alright." Alfred looked over to the doctor, who glanced over to him briefly. "M'names William. If you're going to stay here make yourself useful and get my tools from over there."

Alfred's eyes got wide, "Tools?"

William laughed, clearly finding his expression amusing. "I'm not doing anything drastic, just going to stitch some of these cuts closed that opened. Prob'ly on the ride over." His words slurred together as he bit down on some gauze between his teeth while applying a salve across one nasty looking gash in particular.

"Just call me Nurse Alfred." Washington snorted a the comment, "Oh lord save me now."

* * *

Arthur did not enjoy waking up in abrupt manners, even less so when they involved freezing cold water and the glaring sun directly in his eyes.

He shot up to a sitting position, and quickly regretted having done so. The world spun around him and he placed a hand to his forehead. He hadn't drank the night before – Had he? And why was he wet, and outside of all places?

"Sir!" Arthur flinched, the one word ringing inside his head and making his eardrums hurt. He didn't reply, but massaged his temples while vainly trying to remember what had happened. Another panicked sounding "Sir!" echoed and green eyes snapped open once more.

"For the love of all that is holy would you quiet down?" He nearly hissed the words, and the Officer's face went ashen at the command. He did as told though.

When he felt well enough to stand up he did so, much slower than before though. It felt as though he'd gone drinking, heavily. He eyed the Officer who looked far too young for the position. "Now what is it?"

The boy did not look pleased to be the one doing this. "S-Sir. It's, it – Washington is missing."

Clarity, as bright and obvious as the sun hit Arthur. And the world was suddenly spinning again, but this time it was rage that fueled the vertigo.

"_Alfred."_

* * *

History time eh! Oh John Hancock. Yes that oh so dashing delegate of ours was in fact a smuggler. The taxes before the American Revolution left many a people angry, and as a result smuggling became the norm to get around these taxes...And the Colonists got _real good_ at it. Hancock became extremely successful as a result of his smuggling and used the riches from his 'business' to help fund the Revolution. It wasn't uncommon for many delegates to have less than legal sources for their income that helped the Revolution. They just wanted their tea, sans taxes.

Cheap Colonists. x]

Sorry Arthur didn't get a huge role in this story, and will be taking a back seat as other nations step into the picture. Oh I'm sure some of you know where this is going.


	9. Chapter 8

First off- I am SO sorry this has taken so long to update! I've had finals these last few weeks and preparing for them has consumed my time. Also to be honest I've lost interest, not in the story, but in my writing. Just hit a wall and trying to get over it is a bit frustrating. This story won't be abandoned, just might have its moments. If anyone is interested in Beta-ing, and tossing ideas back and forth message me with your contacts/interest. Thank you for your continued reviews. An update might make your day, but reviews and messages make mine. :] 

* * *

Forty-seven days. It had felt like years. The trip across the Atlantic had left a slightly seasick Washington below decks while Alfred fretted about and tried to think of what he'd say when they arrived at their destination. William had taken to trying to teach Alfred a thing or two about medicine, but from the dazed looks and distracted sighs the doctor had eventually given up and merely offered his books to the young man.

Alfred was currently above deck, and keeping an eye on the land they were slowly approaching. The captain watched him from the helm, "Oi boy."

He turned and looked at the captain who had said to call him 'Cap'n or something'. Since then Alfred had been trying out different names to see if any of them felt right. The blunt man found the name game amusing at least, and tolerated it.

"What is it," a pause, "Phillip?" Apparently still not the right name since the captain just grunted and then replied. "Get below deck, we're gettin' close."

The wind had been strong throughout the entire journey across the Atlantic, but it seemed to finally be slowing just when they had reached the final stretch of the trip. He gave the land one last lingering look and then hurried to the latch and all but jumped down the steep stairs into the hold below.

As soon as his feet hit the swaying deck again he could tell he was about to interrupt something. Apparently George and William were bickering again, probably about the General's health if it was like any of the arguments from before.

"This wouldn't be a problem if you'd just let me-" William began to say under his breath with a frustrated sigh following. Washington meanwhile was fidgeting and trying to get out of the doctor's reach, "Doctor, my ribs are just fine. I'm not made of glass."

That earned him a glare from William who now had his hands on his hips, glasses slightly askew on his nose. "No you are made of ligaments and all sorts of things – Sit _down_." The tone of voice apparently got through to George who with a grumble sat down on a cot.

Alfred shuffled over, smiling as he watched William gently poke and prod at George's side. Neither had yet to greet him so Alfred went ahead and broke the silence, "We'll be there soon."

Washington nodded his head as William shrugged his shoulders, "Glorious. I so love the stench of the cities." Sarcasm coated his words and Alfred's eyebrows rose up in surprise. He leaned back against a post, which took a considerable amount of balance considering the constant movement of the ship.

"Is it really that bad?" Alfred asked curiously. For a moment William looked over his shoulder at him. With a roll of his eyes he returned to his medical examination of the General's ribs, keeping an eye on his face should it tell more than he'd be willing to say out loud.

Satisfied with the results William straightened up and cracked his back, "It isn't so bad I suppose. I'll take the sea over crowded streets any day." He noticed how Alfred seemed let down by his less than enthusiastic opinion of the city. William hastily added, "But there are some amazing buildings, and architecture." If you liked that sort of thing. William kept that thought to himself.

His quick fix seemed to encourage Alfred who was smiling again, "I hope so. I'm really nervous actually." The grin seemed to falter and show the boys nerves. George got up from the cot and made his way over to Alfred on still shaky legs. He clapped a hand on Alfred's shoulder and looked him in the eye.

"Don't be. You're America; you represent our thirteen United States. The delegates have faith in you, and from my understanding we have a rebellion in the works that would put to shame our prior one." George could still see the doubt on the nation's face, "If all else fails recall how you felt during the war, when freedom was in your grasp." That seemed to do the trick.

Alfred's gaze refocused and he nodded his head. "I won't let anyone else hang." His voice and stature became more determined, but the serious expression slipped for a moment as he smiled gratefully at Washington.

"Well then if that's all settled I'll be going above and keeping an eye on things while you two stay here." William gathered his bag and climbed to the upper deck, leaving Alfred and George alone. The two exchanged looks and then settled down. It was going to take some time before they could slip off the ship onto the mainland.

A few minutes of silence passed before Alfred spoke, "Want to guess what I'm thinking of?"

George groaned, "Suppose I don't have a choice." He teased, and then began making guesses. 

* * *

The guessing game had long ago lost any appeal to the two and Alfred had ended up falling asleep half sitting up while George read through one of the books William had left. It wasn't the easiest of things to do considering the dim lighting, but it was better than nothing.

As though his thoughts had been heard a sailor leaned down and 'pst'd' at him. George reached over and shook Alfred as he got to his feet and walked over to the open hatch.

"Com'on then mates." The sailor said to them before pulling back so they could climb out. When they both were standing on the deck the captain walked over and handed Alfred his rucksack and one to George as well.

George and Alfred exchanged glances and then George stepped forward to shake the captain's hand. "Thank you for taking us along." The two shook hands and the captain smirked at George, "Hrm next time maybe you'll get your sea legs." The General smiled good-naturedly and then walked over toward the plank that connected to the dock.

This left the captain and Alfred looking at one another. When the silence had dragged on longer than necessary the captain spoke up, "What? No more guesses?" He _almost _looked disappointed.

The smile on Alfred's face turned into a full grin. He patted the captain on the shoulder before following after George. "Naw, I always knew your name was Jean." Alfred nudged George and the two departed from the ship, and while he didn't need to look back to confirm – Alfred did anyway, just so he could see the look of surprise on the captain's face.

Jean had hidden his French accent well enough, but Alfred knew his people. Some better than others. Jean was one of Hancock's most trusted captains, and Alfred could _feel _the dedication and honesty a mile away from the seafaring captain.

He frowned a little. It wasn't fair that the captain wouldn't be able to enjoy his homeland, but he didn't seem to mind docking and setting off into the sea once more. Maybe the sea was more his home than any land ever could be.

"You seem to be deep in thought." George's voice was strong as it had been before his capture. Alfred smiled at him lopsided and shrugged his shoulders. "I was just thinking is all."

The simple comment resulted in his General arching one brow, "Perish the thought." The nation snorted and rolled his eyes, but the amused look again shifted into the serious expression from before. George picked up on the change in his mood and placed one hand on his shoulder, "It will be alright lad. Franklin will be able to help."

The two seemed to be drawing attention from the late afternoon crowds as they walked through the streets. "I hope so." Alfred seemed oblivious of the stares, while George was all too aware of the looks as they passed into the well-kept streets of France's more elite citizens.

Compared to the locals they looked like country bumpkins. From the rough cut of their clothing to their natural hair, sans wig or powder; both George and Alfred couldn't have stuck out more if they tried.

Had Alfred not had so much to think, or so much to worry about he'd have been eager to take in everything around him. As is he couldn't help but dread the next steps that had to be taken. It was only a matter of time before Arthur figured out where he had gone, and if this didn't work he was unsure of what next he would do.

He sighed and then pasted on a bright smile. There was hope on the horizon though, and he wasn't going to give up. George wasn't about to do so, and he'd been locked up in…Alfred's thoughts trailed off as he looked over to the tall man who was gathering the attentions of women passing by. A small snicker escaped and George merely looked at him with a slight quirk of his own lips.

Alfred _almost _felt bad for the high class Frenchwomen. They had no idea of knowing that this General was accounted for. Guilt wormed its way into his thoughts as he thought about Martha. Things had gotten so hectic and he hadn't even considered sending a letter to the Commander-In-Chief's beloved wife. Though according to the delegates she had been in hiding for some time, and terribly distressed over George's incarceration.

"Maybe we can get a letter back through the captain, to…To her you know?" Alfred offered the suggestion in a soft voice, as though afraid to broach the topic.

George smiled warmly, "I've already asked him to kindly pass along some words on my behalf."

Alfred laughed easily and elbowed the general, who gasped softly in reply. "Oh criminy! I keep forgetting. You just walk _so _straight and shoulders back and you really wouldn't think looking at you that you'd had a broken rib and are you going to be okay? Did I puncture something?" He instantly began rambling, while worriedly standing in front of George, afraid to touch him again lest he re-break a bone or worse.

After a few more shallow breaths George waved the young man off, "I am alright, just tender." George glanced over to a group of women gathered who were watching the two with bemused expressions. In a whisper he leaned over towards Alfred, "We're close to Benjamin's?"

All the young nation managed was a somber nod as he led the way. It was hard to remember that George was hurt. He seemed untouchable, strong, and carried himself so well. Alfred didn't dwell in the thoughts for too long, and instead took pride in the strength of his General.

Said General swatted him over the head lightly, "You're meandering." The amused reminder got Alfred walking straight towards their destination again.

It was strange. Alfred had never been here, to this country, to this street. Yet it felt natural to seek out Benjamin. The note he'd received from his emissary to France all those years ago was folded neatly in the rucksack, but he didn't even need to glance at it to know where he was headed.

A constant tug pulled him along, and eventually stopped when he was in front of a quaint looking home. Alfred approached the door, with George trailing slightly behind him. This was it.

With one last glance back at George, Alfred raised his hand and knocked on the door. There was a muffled shout from inside the room, along with what sounded like items being shuffled around and then approaching footsteps.

It was nice to know some things never changed.

The lock on the other side clicked over and then the door swung open. "Yes?"

Alfred smiled at the bespectacled older man, "Hi Ben."

His jaw dropped, eyes going wide as he frantically looked between the nation he hadn't seen in years and the Commander-In-Chief he hadn't ever thought to see alive again. "Oh-Oh my." Alfred stepped in and gently gripped his shoulder and elbow, offering support as he grinned cheekily.

"Surprise!"

George couldn't help but frown a little, or try to through his smile at seeing the familiar face. "We would have given you warning if it was safe to do so."

The older delegate nodded at each of them in shock, and then waved George in, "This most certainly is a surprise. I, well I'm overwhelmed and speechless." Alfred and Ben moved back further into the cozy home while George stepped in and closed the door behind him.

"Good overwhelmed and speechless though right?" Alfred sounded hopeful as he looked at Benjamin, fingers tightening and loosening as he confirmed that it indeed was his Franklin.

Franklin laughed in the carefree manner that only seemed to be acquired with age, "Of course Alfred!" He shook his head in disbelief, "Come, come, I was just working on some – Well that's hardly important now is it? My country _and _Commander-In-Chief are here!"

He parted from Alfred and walked further into the somewhat small home, cramped mostly by the various papers and odd looking things lying about. George sat down in one of the empty chairs at the inventor's dining table while Alfred helped Ben set out open faced sandwiches and what looked like coffee. It smelled like it at least.

Once they were all settled around the table, Benjamin looked at the two across from him, scrutinizing them as though to be certain they were who he thought them to be.

"My old age isn't getting to me? At least I hope I'm not imagining this, it'd be a terrible thing to dream this and then wake up to discover it fanciful thoughts."

Alfred rolled his eyes, "You're not old Ben." Franklin shrugged his shoulders, "Well then would you please tell that to my aching joints? Though I suppose that's proof enough you're truly the Alfred I recall." He turned his gaze to George then, who was still pale from too little sunlight.

Benjamin reached across the table, offering a hand, and George met him half way. Alfred watched as the two shook hands, more than words passing between them in the simple gesture of friendship. Their hands parted and Benjamin was looking at Alfred with that familiar twinkle in his eye.

"My mind is hopping with ideas as to why you two are here, most of which are giving me hope. This has something to do with the Revolution?"

They exchanged glances and then nodded.

"Well then do tell me everything." Benjamin leaned forward with his hands folded atop the table, looking like an eager child about to be told a secret. Alfred dragged his chair closer to the table, eyes bright with excitement.

Alfred explained to Benjamin in great length to what their plans were, and the inventor's crucial role in them achieving their goal. He glossed over the deaths of the four delegates. The memory of their hanging was still painfully fresh, but Ben's firm reassurances encouraged him to continue and it wasn't long before George began adding to the conversation as well.

When all was said and done, Alfred was leaning with one elbow on the table and the side of his head cradled in the palm of his hand. George was sitting straight as ever and discussing the next steps in their plans with an animated Ben. Seriously, where did they get this energy?

Ben stood up from his chair and glanced out the window. The sun was setting and darkening the streets. "I will do my best." He turned around and looked at Alfred, who sat up straight in response. "Though, Alfred I have a question, and then you can go catch up on what I'm sure is much needed sleep."

Eyebrows raised Alfred nodded his head, "Yeah of course. What is it?"

There was a significant pause as Benjamin gathered his thoughts before proceeding. "When you were younger you would often meet England when he would visit."

Where was he going with this? Alfred frowned but nodded anyway. "I'd run down to the docks and wait for him to arrive."

Franklin nodded as though this had been the expected response. "And did you know of his arrival because you'd seen his ship, or had you received word from him prior?"

Alfred frowned, a small wrinkle between his eyebrows as he thought about it. "Neither. I'd just _know._ I could feel when he was getting closer. I'd sometimes get to the docks hours before he'd show up, and just wait." The memories were much unwanted and he snapped out of them by focusing on Ben, "Why?"

By now George had a grim look to his face and Benjamin seemed to be contemplating the answer he'd been given while he paced back and forth. "Was this just with England?"

"Nooooo." Alfred dragged the word out and leaned back in the chair, balancing on the back two legs as he tried to follow with where this was going. "When Mattie and I were introduced I could tell someone new, like me was coming to visit before he showed up."

Ben stopped his pacing and looked over at the young nation. "Francis included?"

With a sigh of boredom Alfred nodded, "Right. I could tell when another nation was on my land, and-"

Understanding hit him like a bucket of ice water. His mouth formed an 'o'.

The room fell into an uneasy silence, broken only by the sound of Alfred's chair righting itself on all four legs again with a loud 'thud'.

"Maybe he won't notice?" Alfred's voice squeaked slightly as George sighed and placed a hand to his forehead while Benjamin took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"I wouldn't count on that _ma petit colonie._"

* * *

Historical notes. In the ship I really wanted to have Alfred and Washington play a game of rock, paper, scissors, or what would have been rock, paper, blade, but did research first. Imagine my surprise when I found out Jean Baptiste Donatien de Vimeur, Comte de Rochambeau was the one that probably brought the game over to the states! He was the French general who was sent to command an army in support of George Washington. What a small world. :D

Also OMG. Ben! My favorite founding father, where have you been my darling?


	10. Chapter 9

Здравствуйте everyone! I'm going to do another fic giveaway for a lucky random reviewer. This includes anonymous or FF users. Your reviews are all so nice and I really don't have the words to thank you all for it. Hopefully another update will do the trick? Also oh my gosh! The amazing MalkaC did a fanart for the story which you can find at her DeviantArt, which is Miyuki-85 or just delete the spaces here htt p : // miyuki-85. deviantart .com/ . Thank you so much! ;3; I am speechless. You guys are the best.

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The room was dead silent. Benjamin was frowning ever so slightly and George hadn't moved in the slightest. Alfred bit down on his bottom lip.

"Pardon my entering without introductions Monsieur Franklin."

Benjamin managed a tense smile, "Bonjour to you Monsieur France. It is just Benjamin by now." The aged inventor walked over and gestured George out of his seat as politely as he could. "If you need us we'll be in the sitting room."

Alfred watched with an open mouth, face pale as he mentally begged George to stay and not leave him with the nation. Washington only offered him a nod as he was led out of the room. How-They-How could they? Alfred continued to stare at where they'd been a moment ago; hoping they'd come back and laugh off the joke they'd just pulled on him.

Instead he was left in the small room with only France. No delegates here. Alfred _never _dealt with these sorts of things by himself. The only diplomatic proceedings he'd been exposed to had been with England, and even then his role had been minimal at best.

"Non bonjour pour votre frère?" The voice was calm, much calmer than Alfred felt. He managed to swallow past the dry lump in his throat and watched as the finely dressed French nation stepped aside and sat across the table from him. The quaint home wasn't a proper setting for someone like Francis. Not when he was draped in silks and satins of rich colors, altogether exuding an air of refined wealth.

He snapped out of his staring and managed a pathetic, "B-Bonjour." His French was terrible, and to be honest he could barely remember any from the brief times he'd spent with Francis prior to the Seven Years War.

Francis fought to keep from wincing at the pronunciation of the simple word. The accent was horrendous. Clearly nothing good had come of _Angleterre's _raising the boy.

Things grew quiet once more, uncomfortably so for Alfred as Francis openly looked him over. The awkward adolescent from before had suddenly grown into a young man. Though there was still much growing to be done, and the uncomfortable fidgeting reminded him of how young Alfred still was.

"Ah, _ma petite colonie, _pourquoi êtes-vous ici?" Francis seemed almost casual in the way he spoke, but there was underlying frustration in his words – All of which were spoken in French, much to Alfred's dismay.

The first part was the easiest to translate, as Francis had called him that when he was younger, but the rest mostly flew over his head. Something about where he was?

Alfred frowned in unease, "I don't remember much French. Could we speak in English?"

A frown flicked across the French nation's face but quickly returned to the casual bored expression from before. "Of course _Amerique_." He tilted his head as he said so, "So what did you come to discuss with me?" His English carried a slight accent.

More restless movement. "I…" Why did all of his bravado, all of his enthusiasm seem to disappear the moment he was faced with the one person he needed to impress the most. Alfred's eyes moved from one spot on the table to another.

"You know what happened during the Revolution." Alfred began, glancing up to see Francis watching him closely. "Some of my, some men were trying to get French support…" He trailed off, and bit down on his bottom lip. This was so much harder than he had anticipated.

When Alfred had trouble continuing on Francis interjected, "And while we graciously sent over arms you still lost to _Angleterre._"

Alfred stiffened, the blunt insult making his face heat up. "Yes, and that helped. Y'know aside from everyone having to learn how to use the dang things since there weren't any French soldiers to teach 'em." His words drawled together somewhat, emotions getting the better of him.

Francis looked surprised at the outburst. "Do you think that would have changed the outcome _ma petite colonie?_" Long fingers splayed across the tabletop, and Alfred couldn't help but mentally compare his own cracked and dirt caked cuticles to that of the prim and proper nation.

"Stop calling me that," Alfred's jaw clenched tightly, "and of course it would have!" They had been so close to convincing other European nations to help. But then Saratoga had gone horribly wrong and too much had been riding on that one battle. Not long after General Horatio Gates was captured and the Americans lost one of their best commanders, and in the long run, the war.

With a quirk of one brow Francis spoke, "That is what you are Alfred." A pause, "Unless you've somehow won independence when no one else was watching?" The question was malicious, yes, but Francis was in no mood for games.

Alfred's chair squeaked loudly as he stood to his feet. "I came to ask for help!" He didn't sound desperate, no siree.

"Non."

Alfred blinked, and stared at the seated nation. "What?" All his energy from a moment ago vanished at the one word. He slowly sank back down into the chair, eyes wide and nearly in tears at the outright refusal.

"Perhaps you considered what will happen if_, non _when _Angleterre_ discovers you're here?" There was a dangerous glint to his eyes as he spoke. "He will be _livid_." Not that Francis cared for the island nation's feelings, but he did not wish to have all that fury directed at him.

Back to the fidgeting. "That's why I'm here though, well sort of. I didn't know who else to go to, and because if I hadn't then George would have been hung." Or worse. As if on cue Washington walked into the kitchen and picked up the glass of iced tea he had been drinking before.

"Excuse me." He offered politely, before exiting the room again, with both his and Benjamin's drinks.

Francis watched the tall, broad shouldered American General leave before turning his sharp gaze back to Alfred. Such a young boy, childish in his admiration of the man, but then again…Francis sighed softly as he thought of his own Sun King.

"_Amerique_, you must give others faith in your strength before they will needlessly enter a war. One that seems to have ended. "

Alfred frowned, "Before there was Trenton, and even Princeton but you _still _wouldn't help." He cringed at the way his voice cracked. Of all the people he'd considered for help Francis had been first and foremost. Not only because of his longstanding rivalry with England, but because Alfred had missed the French nation. The ideals of France's people seemed to be similar to that of his own.

"You speak of Enlightenment, of people free from their chains." Alfred plowed right on ahead, words running together. "Is that all just some-Some facade? I thought you supported those ideals." Alfred mentally patted himself on the back for using the word facade in a sentence. Plus it was a French word, double points.

Francis turned his gaze to Alfred, and seemed to be considering what he had said, "_Ma petite colonie _ideals are nothing but whispers on the wind if there is no one there to support them." He raised one hand and cupped his chin in thought.

A nation built on ideals. It would have been laughable were Alfred not seated in front of him with a determined fire in his eyes. The thought of Rosseau and Montesquieu's writings helping to form a new nation almost brought a smile to his lips.

This had potential. Perhaps it would even be a lovely experiment. Alfred's voice tore him from his thoughts.

"We're going to do this, with or without foreign help. Somehow, it'd just..." Alfred sighed and ran a hand through his already tousled hair, "We..." Alfred didn't know how to put it into words, just why he needed France's support in this. Aside from the obvious.

The lost look on the colony's face, along with his attachment to the philosopher's ideals made Francis seriously consider offering aid. He smiled, "You have grown much since I last saw you." Alfred looked up in bewilderment.

"Do you remember?" Francis watched the nation for his reaction, curious to see if he held any resentment towards the French and their role in the Seven Years War.

Alfred visibly relaxed. "For a while I thought you were going to actually reach Philadelphia. George loves to go over the battles, says he learned a lot from the French Generals." Which was true, but Alfred was grateful of the opportunity to bring it up to Francis.

The compliment had the intended effect as Francis' smile widened. Francis didn't hold a grudge against the American colonies and their involvement in the Seven Years War, much at least. "Ah, but _ma petite colonie _you have yet to convince me that this time will be different." He returned to the issue at hand with remarkable grace. Then again, it was Francis.

Some tension returned to Alfred's shoulders and he nodded, "I have proof this time." Francis looked at him skeptically as he continued speaking, "I do! Better than Princeton and Trenton combined." Alfred smiled, in the carefree and open way that was charming in its naivety. Had _Angleterre _taught him anything? The boy was far too easy to read, but it was refreshing.

Francis snapped out of his drifting thoughts when Alfred got up and began to rummage through a bag that looked just as rural as the rest of him. "Ah ha!" Alfred had found what he was looking for and returned to the table.

He slid a rather fat envelope across the table to Francis, smiling all the while and eyes bright as he watched the French nation take it with a degree of hesitancy.

"Am I to open this now?" Francis asked with a bemused look. The boy was extremely excited about all this, nearly bouncing in his chair as he watched with anticipation.

Alfred nodded his head, "Mhm."

Without needing further encouragement Francis turned it over and arched one brow at the wax seal pressed on the envelope. It was assuredly not that of _Angleterre's. _Interesting.

He took one of the clean knives off the table and slid it through the seal easily enough. Alfred watched as Francis pulled out the papers and began reading over them, eyebrows slowly rising up on his forehead as he did so.

All was quiet except for the occasional crisp sound of papers being moved. Alfred held his breath, waiting for Francis to finish reading the documents before he would say anything. Francis finally set down the last piece of paper and Alfred exhaled softly, having nearly chewed a hole through his lower lip as he waited.

Neither said anything. Francis slowly began to fold the papers and neatly tucked them back in the envelope. After that was done he turned his serious gaze back up to Alfred.

"The signers, they are the same from your Declaration of Independence?" Francis asked the question softly, and Alfred nodded.

"Well most all of them. Five are missing." His voice was even quieter as he recalled the reason those five couldn't sign, with the exception of one still alive somewhere in the states. He shook his head and looked up to Francis, hope evident on his face. "Will you help?"

A twinge of American sympathy reminded Francis of just how his people felt. They were already enamored with Monsieur Franklin, and the simplicity of the American colonies seemed to amuse them and catch their fancy at the time.

Francis had to be certain that it wasn't their sympathies clouding his judgment.

"I can't promise anything just yet." Alfred's face fell at the comment. Francis smiled at the obvious disappointment on the young colony's face, "I will bring this letter to my advisers, and will speak with you once we reach our decision." He rose to his feet and walked over to Alfred's side.

One hand gently settled on his shoulder, "But _mon petit _I would much prefer if you and your," he paused, "delegates would accompany me."

Alfred's head tilted back so he could peer up at Francis with a frown. "You mean stay wherever it is you're staying?" He didn't seem too keen on the idea. The French nation forced his smile to be reassuring.

"It would be best I think." He chuckled as he watched Alfred's face display a multitude of emotions. "There are enough extra rooms, and in fact your Monsieur Franklin can speak on my behalf." He plucked at Alfred's elbow and guided him to his feet.

The two walked into the sitting room where George and Ben were playing a game of chess, speaking amiably in hushed voices. Benjamin had his back to the door, but George could see them enter and straightened in response.

Ben turned in his chair and looked up with a smile at the two blonds. "Are you all finished?"

"Hardly Monsieur Franklin!" Francis winked good-naturedly before continuing, "Which is why the three of you should come to the Versailles until this is settled."

George by this point had gotten to his feet and was helping Benjamin up from his chair as well, who fussed and waved the younger man off. "Well then! I suppose I'll just grab some things before we go. Alfred would you mind?"

Alfred visibly looked relieved to leave the room as he walked side by side with Benjamin to go get whatever he needed before they left.

This left George alone with Francis who was unabashedly eyeing the General. In a deadpan voice George spoke, "I was much more impressive before being locked up in a cell for some months."

Francis kept his smirk from turning into a laugh at the General's boldness. "I apologize for staring Monsieur Washington." There was no sincere regret in his words. The man was terribly remarkable to look at, much like his _Amerique._ "It is not often I meet the man who is paramount to so many rumors."

George seemed taken aback at the thought of being the subject of rumors. Just as he thought to ask what sort of rumors, Benjamin returned with Alfred carrying a few bags. He didn't seem at all upset by being the inventor's packhorse, but he did make a face when George smirked in amusement.

Francis shook his head. "Let's be off then." He was thankful of the dark, because it meant that there'd be less potential witnesses. The less who knew of the American's presence, the better.

The small group left the house with Benjamin trailing behind as he double checked all the locks. Francis smiled at the driver who remained perched atop the carriage. Truly good service was so hard to come by nowadays. It was a pleasant change to have such a patient and dedicated driver who knew what to do without being told twice.

Alfred along with the two Americans got into the carriage as the driver placed Benjamin's things up front with him. He nodded to Francis who exchanged a few words in French with him before he too got in the carriage with the others.

* * *

It had taken more resources and men than Arthur was pleased with just to get information on how Alfred had managed to break General Washington out of his prison. Though he supposed in the end it had been worth it since he'd been led to a rat's nest of rebels hiding right under his nose.

A man named Gabriel had been picked out by loyalists for his odd behavior and suspicious activities. Arthur had been ready to dismiss the claims until he'd visited the man's tavern for himself. Multiple people gathered there to complain about British rule and the loss of the revolution. Some even spoke of starting a new war!

The audacity of the colonists was sickening. Arthur hadn't wasted a moment in shutting down the tavern and taking the conspirators as prisoners. The owner had been stubborn and had the gall to act insulted when his loyalty to the crown was questioned, but the man never outright voiced his support for British rule. He was clever and danced around a direct answer.

Eventually though, as all men do, he broke. Arthur was not pleased to hear that he had helped plan to break out Washington, and even less so when he discovered Alfred had been sneaking out and had visited the tavern before.

The last useful bit of information he managed to gather from the traitor was about a ship and the docks.

Which was where he found himself standing at the moment, gazing out into the ocean. Arthur couldn't risk leaving the colonies to search out Alfred. Much as he might like to have a word or two with the boy, and oh did he ever. Gloved fingers curled into fists as he stared across the waves.

No, he'd bide his time and wait. Alfred wanted to stir up trouble one last time it'd seem. Arthur would be forced to show the boy that he did not know whom he was dealing with. He sighed to himself. This was not how it was supposed to happen. He had hoped to win Alfred back to him with a firm, but affectionate kindness.

"Bloody Yanks." Arthur voiced his frustration aloud as he turned and began to stride away from the docks and toward the horse that was waiting for him. British officers on horseback themselves waited just a little further down.

Instead he was forced to be the tyrant that Alfred was always blathering on about. He had coddled the boy far too long, and now he had to deal with a petulant teenager. Arthur pulled himself into the saddle and briefly pressed fingertips to his forehead.

Was he to blame for all this? Instantly he answered his own question.

No.

While he might have favored Alfred and spoiled the boy more than the other colonies, that was hardly enough to result in this sort of behavior. He looked at the General nearest him and gave a nod.

Shouts rang out in the quiet of the early morning as the officers and infantrymen made their way into the city. Arthur closed his eyes and breathed in the fresh salty air from the sea. Soon the crisp smell would be tainted with that of smoke, and Arthur wanted to hold onto it for just a bit longer.

* * *

So many potential historical notes in this one I don't know where to begin. Frenchies back then had this strange infatuation with Americans. Franklin was quite popular with the ladies, and I can only imagine how they'd have reacted to George being around. Oh lala. Also in this AU I strongly believe France would have made good on offering muskets to the Americans, but beyond that support – Nil. Also European muskets do have varying differences in structure/make to that of American models. Colonists had a hell of a time getting used to the darn things. Without French guidance, that'd have made it even more frustrating.

Ah and France's beloved Sun King. Louis XIV of France. There's too much about this guy to even condense into a little note. He pretty much made Versailles as important a palace as it is today. Among lots of other things.

Trenton and Princeton were two interrelated battles during the war. Trenton involved the crossing of the Delaware River, and both were wins by Washington. They were widely considered 'lucky wins' by foreign nations at the time, hence why they didn't win over foreign support. Saratoga was the battle in which General Horatio Gates won foreigner's faith in the American cause. In this story it didn't go so well and Gates did not survive the failure. Le sad. Wooh okay notes done!

Thank you in advance for any wonderful reviews.


	11. Chapter 10

Alrighty! First off congratulations to Vanilla Slash who won the random drawing! I wrote her a fic which is titled _Torn Memories and New Beginnings_. It's a direct correlation to _This Is Justice _and is a side story involving Flopsy, Alfred, and some of our beloved historical figures. You can find it from my profile page. So if you want to read something TIJ-related that's more fluffy and happy then go check it out on fanfiction. Here's the last bit of the URL:

.net/s/5984459/1/

Second off, I am seriously sorry I've been so delayed in postings. Remember that writers block I mentioned? Yeah multiply that by about twenty and that's how I've felt about my style lately. D': Blah.

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The Versailles was overwhelming. With the elaborate architecture and ornate fixtures, Alfred didn't know where to look first. He was staying in one of the guest rooms or something of the sort, right near both Washington and Franklin of course. Alfred wanted to make sure that he remained as close as possible to them.

When they had first arrived it had been too late to do much of any exploring, and Francis had been apologetic about it, but really Alfred didn't mind.

Now, he sort of wished there had been time to have been given a tour. He had decided to go exploring on his own and now was completely and totally lost. Maybe it would have been a good idea to just wait for Ben and George to get back from that meeting they were having with some of the French representatives. The Comte Maurepas or someone like that Francis had said.

Oh well, he wouldn't get un-lost just standing around so the best course of action would be to just keep on searching and find his way back his room, or something.

Thus began Alfred's really confusing journey through the halls of the Versailles. It wasn't unpleasant though, it gave him time to think and look at all of the really amazing features of the palace. He stopped and examined some of the molding around a door, eyebrows raised.

It must have taken them forever to get all of this done. There was nothing like it back in the coloni-States. Alfred mentally corrected himself as he returned to walking through the grand halls, occasionally passing guards who ignored him for the most part.

Alfred was officially beginning to lose hope. These hallways were beginning to look suspiciously familiar. Okay, no reason to panic, this was fine...No reason to freak out whatsoever.

And panic definitely wasn't the reason he had gone from walking to nearly running. No, this was just because he felt like running, obviously. His running almost resulted in him missing something very important. Alfred slid to a stop right past a set of doors and then backed up as he peeked through the paned windows on them curiously.

He glanced back and forth down the halls before he reached over and pushed down on the latch, gently easing the door open as he peered around it.

A gentle breeze greeted him as he stepped outside, looking around with wide eyes as he took in the change of scenery. From cramped and gilded hallways to open air with a garden as far as he could see. Alfred stared, somewhat dazed by everything as he approached the railing and looked over the entire area.

There were so many trees, and water. Alfred didn't know where to look, there was just so much to take in. The American folded his arms on the railing, putting most of his weight on his forearms as he leaned forward. There seemed to be an orangery too. Neat.

The afternoon sunlight cast shadows on the geometric walkways, which Alfred traced with his gaze, before finally focusing on the fountains. All this seemed so…So grand.

"Are you enjoying the gardens _ma petite colonie?"_

Alfred jumped at the voice, having been so immersed in seeing everything that he hadn't heard the Frenchman approach. With a grin he straightened and turned around to face Francis, eyes bright with excitement.

"This is, this is _amazing._" The admiration was apparent as he gestured to the gardens surrounding them both. The cool autumn wind picked up once more. "I bet it's somethin' amazing to see in the summertime."

_Amerique's _enthusiastic reaction had Francis smiling as he took the last few steps to stand next to him. "_Oui _it is." Francis reached out and took Alfred by the elbow, "Let's take these steps and visit the _orangerie. _You seem to have become enamored with it." He said this with a twinkle in his eye as he watched Alfred.

"Alright then." Alfred readily agreed to the suggestion, letting Francis lead the way.

Questions were running about in his head, but Alfred kept from asking them all at once. That'd be rude, and Francis probably wouldn't be able to answer them all so quickly anyway, well that and the garden kept distracting him.

Blue eyes moved from one spot to another and then something else would catch his fancy and he'd be looking at that instead. A grin seemed to be plastered across his features. He finally broke the quiet "You must be used to all this." And Alfred must seem an ignorant, uncultured youth, but he didn't care.

Francis observed the American with a bemused look. His spontaneous reactions were like a breath of fresh air, the open spontaneity of the younger nation was invigorating.

No wonder _Angleterre _had tried to keep this all to his self.

"Was all this here before?" Alfred was looking at all the trees, especially those further out that had matured wonderfully over the many years.

Francis shook his head, "This was designed by Monsieur le Nôtre, the landscape that is." His hand that wasn't resting on Alfred's elbow gestured around them, taking in the entire of the gardens. "The ground was flattened, the fountains were added and of course the woods planted and the _orangerie." _Francis smiled as he recalled all the workers rushing about to finish.

He shook off the memories and focused on Alfred, who had an almost flabbergasted look to his face.

"You _planted _the woods?"

Francis arched one elegant brow. "Of course _ma petite, _all of this did not simply sprout from the ground." He teased him gently as he said so. "The fruit trees about do go in the _orangerie _come winter time of course."

Alfred still couldn't believe that they had made everything. That all of this had once been rolling hills and moats. It was mind boggling. They had simply decided to plant a forest and so it was? It was amazing, and must be hard to keep up with. All the tending and watering. He couldn't quite wrap his mind around it.

They entered the orangery, balmy air taking the place of crisp air from outside. Alfred's head tilted back as he took in the tall ceilings.

Without another wasted moment Alfred walked further in and knelt down to look at a young tree that was obviously just beginning to grow. He smiled softly, completely oblivious to the gardeners moving about and taking care of the plants.

Out of nowhere he spoke, "I'll need to work on my French again." He glanced over his shoulder to Francis and then back to the tree. "It's been a while since I've used it, and you know you're terrible when even Franklin teases you."

As Alfred spoke of his own French, along with that of Monsieur Franklin's, Francis openly laughed. It certainly wouldn't be pleasant to hear Alfred butcher his language, but it was hard to say no to the naïve nation. "_Oui, _then perhaps we should switch to French, _non_?"

At France's suggestion Alfred quickly amended his request, "Well maybe a little later?" He heard Francis chuckle from behind him, and was glad the French nation couldn't see the flush across his cheeks. Seriously, it wasn't his fault Arthur had strictly forbidden his speaking 'that frog's nasty language.'

Alfred's face scrunched up as he recalled Ben laughing and poking fun at him for his accent and mispronounced words. Which was double the insult considering the man's less than stellar grasp of the language.

Finally done examining what he figured was a lemon tree Alfred walked back over to Francis, and linked an arm casually through his. He looked around, eager to see all that there was while he spoke, "Well, if you don't mind helping me learn that is." It was nice, but strange to be speaking with Francis in such a casual manner.

Francis's regarded their crossed arms, the obviously homespun cotton of Alfred's clothing pressed against the silk of his own sleeve.

Without hesitating he responded, "Of course, _ma petite colonie_." The linked arm easily slid around the American's waist, as Francis all but leered at him. "I would be more than happy to assist you in _any _way."

Alfred turned and looked at the suddenly much closer French nation, eyebrows raised, "Really?" He hadn't expected Francis to help. Though the arm around his waist left him blinking rather dumbly for a few moments, but maybe it was just some French thing. Europeans tended to be more touchy-feely or something like that. So he settled for staying oblivious of any other implications.

"Thanks then!" He was positively beaming as he thanked Francis. "I don't want to wear out my welcome here though." It was enough of a good thing to have the French truly considering his delegate's proposal. Alfred didn't want to make a mistake with asking too much of Francis.

Said nation leaned more firmly against Alfred, "Ah, _Amerique, _it would take far more than teaching you my language to wear me out." He paused as he gazed at the tree that Alfred had been looking at so closely a moment ago. "You are refreshing. Young, much like the trees here, _non_?"

In response Alfred's face heated up instantly. Compliments weren't what he was used to getting, let alone from older European powers. So instead he laughed it off, "Naw it's just my country roots talkin'." He smoothly slipped into a Southern drawl, as natural to him as the crisp Northern accent he often spoke in.

"But thanks." He added, almost as an afterthought, face still red.

The accent caught Francis by surprise. He peered over at Alfred, thinly veiled surprise apparent as he openly appraised the nation. If people spoke with such a pronounced drawl in America he would have to visit, and soon.

"You are different _ma petite_, but it is a lovely sort of different." The almost bashful and embarrassed reaction was not what Francis had been expecting from the boisterous young man. He would have to compliment _Amerique _more often. "Though certainly some things are the same..." He trailed off, curious to see how Alfred would react to such an insinuation.

Alfred shrugged his shoulders, well as best he could with a Frenchman all but hanging on him. "We don't have anything like the Versailles, it's amazing. Our government is just, well your center for political happenings is definitely a lot more…" Over the top? Refined? Sophisticated? All of those things really.

That was an interesting answer. Francis smirked at the American, "Oh? Though what of parties and balls?" That was more of the noble's fun and games than the government's priorities, but it took place at the Versailles none the less. The luxurious and lavish events brought a smile to Francis's face.

Alfred shook his head vehemently, "No, not really. I'll take fishing over that any day. All the fancy clothes, getting dressed up, having to dance." He shuddered. Those events were stifling to him, unbearable really.

Francis gave Alfred a coy look, amused by how rustic he seemed, and how dedicated he was to such common amusements. Long fingers intertwined through Alfred's, as his hand slid along the nation's lower back to rest on his hip.

Without giving Alfred a chance to do much of anything he gracefully swept the flustered nation into an impromptu waltz.

"Then do you truly not know how to dance?"

Alfred didn't have much choice but to place his free hand on Francis's shoulder. He could feel his face heat up as he stumbled after the other's lead.

"Not very well." Alfred mumbled to the floor, embarrassment keeping him from making eye contact with Francis. The last time he had 'waltzed' was when he had been small enough to still stand on Arthur's feet as the older nation walked through the steps. Which didn't really count he supposed.

His stomach did a flip when Francis's fingers trailed up from his hip to his chin, gently guiding it up so he was looking at his 'dancing partner' rather than the floor.

Francis smiled at the bewildered teen. "I've had much worse dance partners, no worries _ma petite colonie_."

They both stood there for a few moments, with Alfred unsure of what to do, and Francis seemingly content to hold one of his hands while the other rested beneath his chin. Even for Europeans this had to go beyond the usual realm of touchyfeelyness right?

Alfred's lips parted to say something, but then everything went white hot and he collapsed to the floor. Searing pain ran through his body, limbs twitching as he curled up on himself. His fingers reached up, curling and digging into the sides of his head as he screamed.

Francis dropped down next to Alfred not a moment after he had fallen. "_Mon dieu!" _He reached out, hand lingering just above Alfred's head as he looked at the American nation. The boy's eyes were wide, tears welling in them as he stared ahead, gasping for breath like a fish out of water.

When the spasms that wracked Alfred's body seemed to slow, Francis scooped him up. The nation was still but a boy, not yet fully grown and Francis was extremely grateful for that at the moment.

He all but ran across the gardens, cutting across the smooth grass. Alfred screamed the whole way, his voice growing hoarse as they neared the Versailles. Francis rushed up the steps, and was relieved to see the guard that had taken up post outside the doors.

Without needing to ask, the guard opened the door and Francis hurried past. He made for the boy's rooms, and along the way just so happened to pass the Comte Maurepas who was speaking with both Washington and Franklin.

The three stopped and watched the French nation move by them swiftly, and without another word Washington ran off after him leaving Franklin with the French representative.

"What happened?" George asked as he looked down at Alfred, reduced to groans and quiet mewls of what sounded like the word 'burns.' Francis stared ahead with a bleak air. "I've not a clue Monsieur Washington." As they approached Alfred's room, the General wordlessly opened the door and followed in after Francis as he set the nation down on the large bed.

George stood off to the side, watching with a frown as Francis hovered over Alfred.

Now released from the rather strong hold of the Frenchman, Alfred twisted and convulsed. His eyes opened partially, glancing over but not quite looking at either Francis or Washington. "It _burns._"

George frowned and glared at Francis, "Is this your doing?"

Francis scoffed, more offended than he cared to say at the insinuation. "_Non _Monsieur. I believe this would be _Angleterre's _doing." Francis looked over at the American General, "Please hold Alfred down, I need to be sure of this."

Clearly unhappy with helping out, Washington walked over and sat on the edge of the bed near Alfred's shoulders and reached over to hold them down. "It's alright Alfred, you're here. In France, you're safe." George whispered softly, and Alfred's teary gaze flicked up to him. He stopped thrashing about as he stared up at Washington, and the General wordlessly placed one hand on his forehead in response.

Meanwhile Francis had taken to unbuttoning Alfred's shirt, and hissed in displeasure when he saw what he'd been expecting.

Alfred closed his eyes; pitiful sobs shaking his shoulders as George looked down to see what it was the French nation had made a sound about. His own eyes widened as he saw what it was that Francis had apparently been searching for.

"What would cause that?" A new voice asked, as Franklin made his way into the room and stood at the foot of the bed.

Francis grimaced as he leaned back from Alfred. "_Angleterre _has just burned something." He looked between the two men. "Or many things, very important to _Amerique._" With a final sympathetic look Francis moved to leave, pausing in the doorway.

"This is to be a long night Monsieur Washington, Monsieur Franklin. I'll be back shortly with bandages."

* * *

Not a whole lot for notes here. The Versailles is _amazing _though, and you should google pictures of both the Palace and the gorgeous gardens. Comte Maurepas also known as Jean-Frédéric Phélypeaux was a minister of state, and had a rather interesting life. He also supported the Americans in their Revolution and ideals to pursue independence from England. Andre le Nôtre was an absurdly talented landscape artist, his most obvious work being the garden of Versailles.

I was going to add in some more Arthur to this chapter, but realized how ridiculously long it was and decided not to torture my poor readers with an even longer chapter. Color me curious though how do you guys think this story will turn out? Shall Alfred gain his independence? Or will he get reigned in by Arthur? Tune in next week! ...Oh that was so corny. I apologize.

Sorry for the update by the by. Had to fix a typo that was driving me insane. Also I forgot to mention that an orangery us basically a green house. :D


	12. Chapter 11

Welllll guess who's been sick? Yeah. I've felt cruddy lately but then I got realllly sick. Like 104°F sick. On top of this I've got to be packing for moving and all sorts of fun stuff. :D Say do any of my lovely reader/reviewers attend conventions? P.S. Happy Flag Day fellow Americans!

* * *

Alfred groaned as he slowly opened his eyes. For a moment he expected to see the ceiling from his home in Philadelphia, or maybe even the blue sky above him. Instead he was looking at an arched ceiling high above him with all sorts of embellishments.

Another groan escaped as he slowly began to try and sit up. He barely got a few inches off of the mattress before a searing pain in his chest stopped him and he collapsed back into the soft cushions.

"Owwww." His eyes screwed shut as he waited for the sharp aches to stop.

Then there was a soft touch, smoothing back the hair that clung to his forehead. His muscles relaxed almost instantly in response.

He opened his eyes once more, and was surprised to find that he had somehow been moved slightly, or maybe Francis had been there the whole time. From what he could see, the French nation was sitting cross legged, his back leaning against the headboard of his bed. Alfred's head was resting in his lap, and it was Francis who continued to gently stroke his hair.

"Why-" Alfred began coughing before he could finish his sentence, cringing at the pulling pain in his chest once more. His throat felt raw, like he'd been talking for hours and hours. Or screaming.

Once the coughing finally came to a stop he looked back up to Francis, who was regarding him with a sympathetic gaze. This time, he spoke in a much quieter voice. "Why are you in my bed?"

Francis smiled down at Alfred, laughing lightly at the question. "I've been here often over the last few days." Despite the familiar smirk on his face, there was a concerned tone laced throughout his words.

"How are you feeling _ma petite colonie_?"

Alfred shrugged his shoulders a little. "Like crap. And why does my chest hurt?" His neck craned to get a better look and see for himself.

Francis placed his hand on the colony's forehead, gently pressing him back down before he could see the extent of the damage done. Confused blue eyes glared up at Francis.

"You shouldn't look just yet." Francis answered before Alfred could even ask why. "First you should tell me what you felt before collapsing in the _orangerie_."

Alfred frowned, trying to remember what had happened last before he woke up here. He and Francis had been exploring the gardens, and then they'd been…Dancing? His face heated up as he remembered that, yes, they had been waltzing in the middle of the orangery. Then…Then…

A small wrinkle formed between his eyebrows as he tried to remember more than that. Then it hit him. His eyes widened, "Something bad happened back in the states." His voice was hushed, as though he was afraid to speak loudly about it.

Francis nodded his head, before murmuring in an encouraging manner, "Anything else?"

Alfred closed his eyes, "It hurt, like, a lot. More than the French and Indian war. More than any battles during the Revolution." His eyes snapped open and he stared up at Francis. "Did-Did Art-England do this?"

Francis smiled, but it was a bittersweet expression. "_Non_. The British Empire did this." There were both subtle and obvious differences between England and the Empire that existed today. _Angleterre _would never do a thing to hurt his beloved colony. The British Empire though…

He sighed softly, his fingers brushing at Alfred's hair once more. "They seem one in the same anymore."

Alfred stared up at him, eyes wide. Francis sounded so, so _sad _when he said it. Like he had some other memory to compare to and couldn't let go of it. He frowned, "It'll be okay."

Francis laughed at the worry in Alfred's words, "Ah _cher _you've been sleeping so long, it has been far too quiet without you up and about." His subtle change in topic seemed to do the trick on Alfred who rolled his eyes, face slightly red from the compliment.

"Can I look now?"

There was a moment of silence and then Francis nodded his head once.

Alfred took in a steadying breath and closed his eyes before propping himself up on his elbows so he could sit up a little better. Without saying anything Francis helped him up a little more. Alfred tried to take most of his weight on his own, but he still leaned heavily against the French nation.

Alright, now or never. His head tilted forward, chin near to touching his collar bone before he opened his eyes to see.

He blinked dumbly, lips parted as he stared at the raw looking burn just over his heart. His mind still recalled the tan, unmarred skin that had been there before. Not the mess of blisters and red skin that currently covered a good part of his chest.

"I was just about to put on some clean bandages."

Francis's hushed voice interrupted Alfred's startled thoughts. He forced himself to smile and look over his shoulder at him. "You didn't have to do all this." He felt indebted to him. Were it not for Francis he…

"Don't fret _ma petite, _it was nothing." Francis waved one hand casually and then began to sit Alfred up the rest of the way, moving very slowly as he did.

Once he was sitting up, Francis moved off of the bed and over to a nearby table. There was a neat stack of towels along with a pile of clean bandages. Francis grabbed the latter before returning to stand in front of Alfred.

He had shifted to where his legs could hang off the side of the bed, bare feet just barely touching the cold floor. Alfred caught another glimpse of the wound in the mirror above a vanity and couldn't seem to tear his gaze from it.

Francis frowned and placed two fingers under Alfred's chin before tilting his face away from the mirror. "_Puis-je_?"

Alfred blinked a few more times before then nodding his head, reaching up and pushing aside Francis's hand. He laughed, a little awkwardly as Francis began wrapping the bandages around his chest.

"Are all Europeans so touchyfeely?"

Francis arched one brow, smiling as he focused on covering the burn with the fresh dressing. "You wound me _Amerique_. Why? Does it make you uncomfortable?" He spoke with a dramatic flourish, and added a wink at the end for good measure.

Okay maybe that hadn't been the best question to ask. Especially of Francis. Arthur had told him some downright scary stories about the French.

"Ah ha, ah no?" Alfred said awkwardly before then shrugging one shoulder. "I'm just not used to it I guess. It's…" He paused as he tried to think of the right word, "Er, weird?"

Francis gasped in mock horror. "_Non _that is simply unacceptable." He'd just finished wrapping the wound and tied it off in a neat bow. Unnecessary but he rather liked bows.

Once done with that he leaned back, one hand on his hip and the other placed under his chin as he regarded Alfred. "I recall you being very affectionate when you were younger."

Alfred's face heated up drastically, but he rolled his eyes and fought to maintain his composure anyway. "Well I was a kid, and that's…You and Ar-England were new and different, and it was just a reaction and _why _are we talking about this?" He rambled on, desperate to move onto something else.

The whole time he blathered on Francis eyed him with barely concealed amusement. "It _does_ make you uncomfortable. Well if that's the case then shall we go for a walk? Or would you rather rest some more?"

His eyes lit up, "Could we go see the gardens?"

"_Oui._" Francis stood nearby as Alfred struggled but got to his feet without any help. The colony was just as stubborn as _Angleterre _it would seem.

Francis barely touched Alfred's elbow, guiding the nation rather than carrying his weight as they walked out into the hallway.

"Where's George, and Ben?" Alfred asked, his curiosity getting the better of him. He could vaguely remember Washington, just before he'd completely passed out.

Ah, the Americans. "Monsieur Franklin has been speaking with my own representatives, and coming to an agreement on our…" He trailed off for a moment, "Exchange."

"As for Monsieur Washington, he has been spending time with Monsieur Lafayette." Francis smiled, his head tilting to the side, "They seem to get along very well."

Alfred nodded his head, and tried to focus on what Francis was saying instead of what kept running through his mind.

_Arthur actually attacked me. He burnt a city, my city. People, the Congressional building…The city. _

It kept repeating itself, as if on an endless loop. He had known that Arthur would be mad, but this was unbelievable, and scary. When he finally focused back on the present, they had reached the gardens and Francis was helping him sit down on one of the many benches.

The cool breeze felt wonderful against his flushed skin. He closed his eyes and simply enjoyed the sensation for a few moments.

Then he opened his eyes and turned to Francis; who had sat down next to him and had been watching him silently.

"How long until they've come to an agreement?"

Francis's eyebrows rose slightly. "Soon they'll be presented before the King. The deal is, ah how do you say, 'as good as done'."

"Will you be there?"

Francis nodded.

"Then I'll go too."

The French nation smirked, "But _ma petite _I did not think you enjoyed the elaborate French society and our dancing."

"There's going to be dancing?" Alfred asked with a concerned frown. Then he noticed the playful smile on Francis's face and glared. "Ha ha, very funny. Pull my leg some more why dontchya?"

Francis tilted his head, "I was doing no such thing."

Alfred mentally kicked himself for using the analogy that Francis probably didn't understand. "It's a-Ah never mind, but I'd be there anyway. Dancing or no dancing. It's…Important to me." Alfred straightened somewhat, looking determined with his shoulders squared and face serious.

Francis smiled softly, "Then we're going to have to make sure you have the appropriate clothes for such an event. How are you feeling?"

That had been unexpected. The serious expression turned into a confused one as he looked back to France. "Uh, fine? The wound sorta itches." He mumbled, one hand creeping up to hopefully scratch at the bandages.

Francis gently took Alfred's hand before it reached the covered burn and clicked his tongue in disapproval. "_Non_, let's go then." He helpfully pulled the confused American to his feet.

"Go? Go where?" Alfred frowned as Francis mostly dragged him along.

The leading nation hummed happily, before then slipping one arm behind Alfred's waist and gesturing with his other hand, "Shopping of course!"

* * *

"_What_ did you say?"

The man standing on the other side of the desk was visibly shaking; skin blanched and sweat trickling down his neck.

"T-The reports ind-indicate that he's b-b-been spotted in France. I-It hasn't been c-confirmed bu-"

A teacup went flying scant inches past the man's face and shattered on the wall behind him. If possible his face paled even more.

"Then bloody well confirm it."

"S-Sir." The man saluted, rather poorly, before turning and rushing out the door.

Arthur sighed heavily, gloved fingers massaging at the side of his head. Spies, everyone had their bloody fingers in everyone else's business, and if his spies were right then…He couldn't imagine Alfred, _his _colony in those damned lecherous hands.

He had to remind himself that nothing had been confirmed yet, that this was merely speculation. Whispers of rumors and sideways glances. It didn't sit well with the British nation either way. It made sense, more than he cared to admit, for Alfred to have gone with his General to that bloody frog.

If Francis had any sense of self-preservation he would have closed his door to Alfred and turned him away. The Revolution had been a spectacular failure on the American's part, and no dignified nation would so much as give the time to Alfred.

Not to mention that America was _his _colony, and no one else's. _Especially _not France's. His teeth began to grind together as his mind conjured up images of Alfred talking with Francis, laughing-Ugh.

All such thoughts vanished when his gaze landed on the fixed stuffed rabbit. The pathetic thing sat on the edge of his desk, regarding him with dull button eyes and a sad tilt of the head. Arthur reached out and grasped the soft plush, holding it before him with a reminiscent smile.

"You don't know what's good for you Alfred." He sighed once more before setting the rabbit down in the corner again.

"Kirkland!"

Were it anyone other than General Charles Cornwallis addressing him as such, Arthur very well might have seriously hurt them. Instead he looked up at his General with a bored expression. "Yes General?"

The man looked slightly flustered, which was unusual.

"Sir, the colonists have acted up. In the South they are retaking the plantations, and," he paused for a moment, an indignant scowl on his face, "and hanging the British overseers."

Arthur closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. "General, take the appropriate measures. I've business to attend to overseas."

The General's eyes widened before he nodded, "Of course sir, we will handle things here in your leave."

"Do so then. You have my leave to go and take care of this problem, before word of it spreads."

Cornwallis gave another nod before turning and walking briskly out of the office, his heels clicking on the wood floor until finally Arthur was alone once more.

Arthur slowly stood up out of the chair, looking down at the scattered papers for a brief moment before stacking them up into a neat pile. With that done he slid into his jacket and walked around the desk towards the door.

He stopped midway, and with one hand reached out and took hold of the forlorn looking Flopsy. Then he walked out the door, and closed it without saying a word.

* * *

Alfred groaned as he and Francis walked up the steps of the Versailles, his feet aching and chest _still _itching. Never again did he ever want to go shopping-Ever.

Francis on the other hand seemed to have been invigorated from the whole thing, eyes glowing and a content expression present almost the whole day.

"_Ma petite _I should not have kept you out so late." Francis observed the tired colony with a knowing smirk.

It had the intended effect as Alfred glared halfheartedly at him, "I'm fine. I've just never really gone out and spent a whole day just figuring out what clothes to wear or things like that. It's-" He noticed the observant look in the other's eyes and groaned. "Okay it's exhausting."

Francis's smirk widened and he once again slid his arm around Alfred's waist, this time supporting much of his weight as they walked. "I know, and I will let you rest as soon as we reach your room."

Alfred nodded his head, and Francis watched him from out of the corner of his eye. "You are very strong _Amerique._" Alfred opened his lips to protest but Francis stopped him before he could deny him, "_Non, _it is true. You'll have a scar," he placed the hand not fixed at Alfred's hip over the colonies heart, "but already you are doing more than I had expected."

It was as though he had bounced back from the burning, invigorated in a way. Francis was very curious as to what was happening over in the New World. He imagined that _Angleterre _had his hands full with whatever the Americans were doing.

They reached the top of the steps just as the ominous clouds overhead cracked and sheets of rain began falling from the sky. Francis ushered Alfred closer to the building and inside so he wouldn't get wet, and they barely made it through the ornate doors in time.

Alfred looked behind him, watching the rain with a despondent face. Francis frowned and gently tugged on the nation's ear, "_Ma petite _it is not going to bite you."

He tore his gaze away from the rain, recalling a muddy field and where he sat, crying out for Arthur to say something, _anything._

Francis had a curious, but worried look to him, and so Alfred managed to smile. "Yeah, I'm whipped. Room? Because I'd get seriously lost without some help."

The obviously faked smile didn't comfort Francis any, but he let it slide and once more wrapped an arm about Alfred's slim waist and walked slowly through the hall. "It is not so hard, perhaps you'll learn in time."

Alfred rolled his eyes. There was no way he could ever remember how to get around in the palace.

They reached the door to his room, and Francis wordlessly pushed it open. He led Alfred to the bed and set him down on the edge before going over to the window and looking out at the darkening sky that was illuminated only by the occasional lightning strike.

Alfred sighed as he pulled his legs up close and worked off the shoes followed by his vest. He collapsed back onto the bed, too tired to deal with the rest right then.

Francis turned from the window and walked back, standing near Alfred with an amused smirk.

"Just going to sleep in your clothes?"

A mumbled 'mhm' was his only response.

He smiled and shook his head at the tired boy. Part of the reason he had taken him out was to see how _Amerique_ would fair with such an injury. Francis had to know for certain that the attack wouldn't cripple him, or make him a worthless ally in another Revolution against _Angleterre. _

"_Bonne nuit ma cher_."

Francis turned to leave after his farewell, but was stopped short when a hand grasped his wrist.

"_S'il vous plaît restez._"

Francis's eyes widened and he turned to look down at Alfred, who was partially curled up on his side, and staring up at him with blue eyes so similar to his own.

"_D'accord_." Francis couldn't say no to Alfred, especially when he had requested him to stay in such flawless French. It was a vast improvement from the way he had butchered it just last week. Had he been able to speak it so eloquently all along?

A gentle tug on his wrist interrupted his thoughts, and reminded him of whom he was ignoring. Francis smiled and repeated softly, "_D'accord_."

Then he crawled onto the bed and lay down next to Alfred, who curled up into his side but a moment after. Francis pulled the blanket up so that it covered them both, and smiled to himself. Years from now he was going to have a wonderful time telling _Angleterre _how his beloved colony had shared the same bed as him.

Just imagining Arthur's reaction was enough to give Francis a good night's sleep.

* * *

Some translations because I forget not everyone reads/speaks French.  
_Puis-je? _ – May I?

_Bonne nuit ma cher_. – Good night my dear.

_S'il vous plaît restez. _– Please Stay.

_D'accord_. – Alright.

As for historical notes, some of my favoritest people are mentioned in this Chapter. Such as Gilbert du Motier, marquis de Lafayette. He was a French aristocrat and military officer who served under George Washington in the Revolutionary War. Also he and Washington had the best bromance ever. Seriously. Look it up sometime. Lafayette's daughter even wrote letters to George Washington. How cute is that?

General Charles Cornwallis was a British General and a colonial Governor. He was actually opposed to the measures and events that led up to the Revolution but accepted his duty and service to the crown and served in the Revolution for England. He was a very good commander.

I **really **do love to read your reviews, and reply to every one of them. X3 I hate to say it but they do encourage me to write more, and to write better. I just want to thank you all who have been and continue to review. If I could I'd bake you all some delicious homemade goodies.


	13. Chapter 12

First off thanks again for all the lovely reviews! Also to the non-FF reviewer KaitoAngel, along with those who fluently speak French; if you see an error in the language it's probably a typo on my end. I get all my translations from my friend Sara who majored in French language, literature and studies. Only problem is the translations are all relayed the phone, so as you can guess-I sometimes get them wrong.

I'd go back and fix it, but I hate clogging up my reader's inbox with updates for fixing one typo.

Very sorry for the delay you guys. Things are busy. I want to finish this story strong, but that might mean slower updates, or faster ones at the cost of story progression. I have been having a hard time finding motivation. Just, bleh on my writing. BLEH ON IT.

Happy Fourth of July in advance to my fellow Americans! Vive la revolution…Or something. Stay safe!

* * *

There were only a few things that could reduce Alfred, the (soon to be) United States of America to a shy and awkward mess. Unfortunately he had a new one to add to that very small list. Parties-Or more specifically, overly elaborate French parties that involved all kinds of important people.

Francis had assured him that the expensive dress and food were common at the royal court. A playground for the wealthy to indulge in decadent living. Or that's what Francis had called it, before he was whisked off by some well dressed women and had left Alfred to fend for himself.

So that's why he was currently standing in a corner and watching as his delegates intermingled with various French people. None of which he could recall off the top of his head. Ben was also speaking with John Adams, who was being oddly quiet for once. Washington was off to the side, speaking with Lafayette, who he seemed to be attached at the hip with lately.

It left him feeling isolated and alone in a sea of expensive finery and important people. Hadn't Francis said something about meeting 'some very good' friends of his?

Maybe it had just been a ploy to get him to dress up like he was. Alfred drew the line at wearing a wig. Neither Washington nor Franklin were wearing one, and he sure wasn't about to. The thought of having a wig on, smothering Nantucket made him shiver.

"Wow you are _so _not impressive."

Alfred stiffened at the unfamiliar voice, and slowly turned around to see who it was that had spoken.

His eyes widened when he was faced with…What was he? A man stood there, in an intimidating military uniform, but it wasn't his clothes that had caught Alfred by surprise. Rather the way he looked. From snow white hair to equally pale skin-The man looked like a gh-No, not going there.

Blue eyes clashed with red, and Alfred squirmed under the scrutiny in that gaze. He felt like a bug about to be squished by a boot.

Finally he found his voice.

"Were you talking to me?"

The albino rolled his eyes and stepped forward, slowly circling Alfred as he took the blond in. "Don't see anyone else sulking in a corner."

Alfred huffed indignantly. "I was not sulking." He put emphasis on the word 'not.' Despite the warm air in the Versailles, goose bumps rose up all along his skin. This was probably how a rabbit felt before the wolf swooped in for the kill.

"Knock it off." Alfred did not like this man one bit. Who was he to just sneak up behind him and start rolling out insults?

Surprisingly enough the man did stop, and grinned. "You've got some backbone! Maybe not a complete loss after all."

"Have we met?" Alfred's voice was completely flat, and he decided to inch off to the side so he could keep this stranger in his view at all times.

The albino puffed out his chest and seemed to grow even taller. "You'd remember if you had ever gotten the chance to bask in my pre-"

"Gilbert!"

The all too smug man was interrupted from his introduction when Francis bounced back over and greeted him enthusiastically, with air-kisses and all. Or had those been real kisses? It wouldn't surprise Alfred if they were.

"I see you've met our _Amérique_." Francis continued on, clearly having had a few drinks if the content flush and extra energy were any indication.

Alfred cleared his throat, "Not really no."

The man-Apparently Gilbert shrugged his shoulders, but both he and Francis continued on as if Alfred hadn't said a single thing. "I'm all for getting back at eyebrows, but are you sure he's our best shot?" One thumb jerked in Alfred's general direction, who was bristling by now.

"_Oui_, and you'll see it soon. Didn't you read the documents that were sent over?"

Gilbert snorted, and Francis laughed. Apparently he hadn't read any documents. Then Alfred was no longer alone, an arm casually draped across his shoulders as a mellow voice spoke close to his ear.

"It's been a long time _mi hijo_."

Alfred froze and slowly tilted his head, just enough to where his gaze could take in the owner of that voice. With Spain standing there, standing so close…Francis and Gilbert became background noise.

"Spain." His voice was quiet, and those green eyes connected with his own. A smile tugged at Antonio's lips, but there was a hint of malice beneath the cheery expression.

"Do you not remember Spanish?"

Alfred felt like he was being tested. With a thick tongue and dry throat he nodded, mustering up a smile to match that of the Spaniard's. "_España. ¿Cómo estás?"_ The forced politeness almost had him gagging on the words.

A moment after, the dark undertone to Antonio's smile vanished and in its place was the clueless joy that so often permeated his moods. "_Muy bien_!" Antonio then pulled Alfred into a full hug, one hand straying up to pet at his hair.

"Ah but how you've grown! Sweet little _América_ no more." Antonio sounded rather disappointed as he said so. Meanwhile Alfred blanched, and subtly tried to escape his grasp, inhaling sharply when Antonio's fingers curled around Nantucket and then smoothed it down.

He somehow managed to slip from Antonio's grasp, who seemed lost in memories anyway and turned to find both Francis and Gilbert watching. One with open amusement, the other with visible jealousy; the latter of which walked over and linked his arm with Alfred's.

Francis, holding Alfred close to his side smiled at the fellow nations, "Spain, Prussia-America." The introduction wasn't necessary, but Francis did enjoy when he had control of the situation.

Both Prussia and Spain were staring at him, and France's fingers were digging into his arm. It was an unsettling feeling to be the center of attention like this. Or maybe it was just Gilbert's red eyes. Yeah, that was probably it.

"You both are going to help me?" Alfred asked with disbelief coloring his words. Prussia was someone he was unfamiliar with, and Spain…He had thought that Antonio would still hate him for all that had transpired between them. Well between them because of England.

Spain had a lazy smile on his face, his focus drifting off to the dancing couples. "_Sí_." Apparently that was all he had to say as he walked off towards a group of what looked like gossiping women.

That left Alfred with an albino staring a hole through him, and a Frenchman cutting off the circulation to his forearm. He looked up from the floor and returned the stare.

For a few tense moments all they did was gaze at one another, each unwilling to back down. Then Gilbert laughed and walked forward, close enough to clap a hand on Alfred's other shoulder-The one not brushing against Francis's own.

"I'll start training with you tomorrow. I hear we're setting sail soon."

Alfred swallowed, eyes widening. "Training?" He glanced over to Francis whose lips were pressed into a thin line. "What are we training for?"

Gilbert looked bored already. "Because untrained farmers worked out _so _well for you last time." He turned and walked away, much like Spain had a moment ago.

Blood rushed to Alfred's face and he moved to step forward so he could knock some sense into that egotistical jerk, but Francis stopped him. He turned to face Francis, anger causing his muscles to tense and fingers curl into fists.

"Let me go."

Francis arched one brow, lowering his head slightly and effectively defusing Alfred with a stern look.

"I don't want his help." Alfred mumbled, glaring at the back of Prussia as he paraded about like he owned the place.

Francis lightly smacked Alfred on the back of the head, only enough to get his attention back. "You need him. His generals are some of the best, and any enemy of _Angleterre's _should be a friend to you." For now at least, but Francis didn't feel the need to remind Alfred of the ever-changing politics between nations.

With a heavy sigh Alfred nodded his head. "Alright. He just creeps me out." Maybe it was because in a way all three of these nations reminded him of Arthur.

Spain, France, Prussia-They all had that air of an old world power to them. They acted like they could do anything, and Alfred was almost convinced that they could. It was the way they walked, and how they spoke. Maybe all Europeans acted like they were superior to everyone else.

"…and perhaps later you will come to appreciate all that we're doing." Alfred slipped out of his thoughts, and realized that Francis had been speaking to him the whole time.

The older nation gazed at him expectantly, and Alfred just blinked a few more times. "Uh-Yeah I'm sure I will."

Francis's eyes narrowed. No doubt he suspected that Alfred hadn't heard a single word he'd just said, but he'd let it slide this time. Besides this was a time to celebrate, and to enjoy the newly formed alliance between them. All of them.

"I cannot help but notice you've been less than enthusiastic _ma petite colonie._" Francis carefully moved them to the outer edge of nobility, to where they could speak more privately. With a concerned frown Francis reached up and briefly ran his fingers across Alfred's chest, where the burn lurked just beneath the fine blue silk.

Alfred felt his face heat up and stepped back a little from Francis, glancing around to make sure no one was watching. "I've just…I've got this sort of uneasy feeling."

His vague answer didn't make Francis feel any better. "About what?" He placed both hands on Alfred's shoulders, forcing the teen to look him in the face as he spoke.

"Ever since the burnings, I've been tired, but it feels wrong. Like there's something going on that I should know about." A shiver ran down his spine. "I'm missing something, and I feel like I'm just waiting for the pin to drop."

Francis slid one hand along Alfred's shoulder and up his neck to just beneath his chin. "_Cher _Alfred, it could mean a number of things." His voice was calm, explanation reasonable as he explained so to America. "When the time comes we will deal with it."

Alfred didn't look convinced, if the frown and wrinkle between his eyebrows were any indicator. A moment later the worry was gone, and Alfred was smiling. "You're right."

"When am I ever not?" Francis winked good naturedly.

The wink got a laugh out of Alfred, "Don't even wanna go down that road." Alfred pulled away from a stunned Francis, who shook aside the momentary stupor.

"What did _Angleterre _tell you?" Francis cried out after Alfred.

* * *

Arthur usually loved sailing. Unfortunately he was having a hard time enjoying himself on this particular journey. Whatever awaited him in Europe, it wouldn't-couldn't be anything good. He wasn't sure if it would be worse to discover Alfred with that slimy frog, or not.

On one hand he'd know where the git had been hiding and it'd make taking him home all the easier. On the other…There was no telling what his time with Francis had been like in the growing weeks, and whether or not he'd convinced the romantic fool to do something idiotic.

Like support another revolution.

Arthur scoffed at the thought and decided that it was a ridiculous thing to consider. What could Alfred possibly have to entice Francis into fighting his war? One that had finished long ago.

They still had a long journey left until they reached Europe.

* * *

Short chapter and I'm sorry for that. This was my first time ever writing Spain or Prussia. I hope I got them somewhat right. Not really much to say historically speaking here. Prussia helped immensely in the Revolutionary war, and will hopefully do so again for Alfred in this story. One of his Generals worked directly with Washington in fact. He would have been disregarded by the soldiers due to his personal preferences were it not for George speaking on his behalf.

Spain's animosity should be obvious. HIS ARMADA. That and lands lost in the new world to England. I could see him holding some of that anger towards Alfred for his native people didn't take too kindly to the missionaries and whatnot. Either way I think Spain is a deeper character than most give him credit for.

Please do leave a review, I adore hearing from everyone!


	14. Chapter 13

Updates may be sporadic these next few weeks. I have two conventions coming up that I'm making costumes for. So I am busy as heck making intense cosplays. To make up for the extreme shortness of the previous chapter, this one is freaking huge. So I hope you have some snacks and a drink!

* * *

The party seemed never-ending. Alfred had been accosted by a few women, who were curious enough to come speak to the aloof American. Unlike George, he wasn't a good dancer and only smiled politely and declined the women in stuttering French. Others were seeking stories of why the Americans were here, what was happening in the states, and the French flew right over his head.

After many tries, the women eventually gave up and turned their attentions to the other Americans. Franklin was absurdly popular, and Alfred would have laughed if the inventor didn't seem to be enjoying himself so. His casual and quiet tendencies seemed to woo the ladies without his even trying.

George, unlike Alfred was too much a gentleman to turn away the women seeking an audience with him.

Prussia had long since disappeared with France to do…Alfred didn't really want to know what. Spain was still meandering about. Once again he had been left alone.

He was just about to consider sneaking off when someone cleared their throat behind him. Almost so quietly that he missed it. Alfred slowly turned around, his gaze landing on a well dressed woman who seemed familiar…

Before she could ask the same thing of him as so many others had, Alfred decided to speak first. "_Je ne parle pas très bien Français_."

If anything she seemed to look positively delighted after he spoke. "_Oui_? Francis has said otherwise."

Alfred blanched, mouth open as he tried to think of what to say.

"You speak English?" He mentally kicked himself. Not the most elegant of greetings. He seemed to realize this and belatedly bowed, face warm with embarrassment. She spoke English and knew Francis. Not a good combination.

The delicate looking woman nodded with a coy smile on her lips. "Well enough."

Alfred fidgeted, "Oh, that's neat." He noticed Ben looking his way with a curious and somewhat surprised expression. For now he decided to ignore it and looked back to the woman who had yet to introduce herself.

"I'm Alfred." He almost offered his hand to shake hers, but stopped himself at the last moment. Manners and proper greetings were so confusing here.

The woman inclined her head and offered her hand. Alfred knew well enough to gently press his lips to the top of her hand. "And I am Marie Antoinette."

If possible, Alfred felt even more blood drain from his face. As in _the _Dauphine of France? The Queen?

Her smile widened at the American's reaction. "Francis has been hiding you away from me." Alfred looked around, hoping to find a lifeline somewhere-Like Francis. He'd even settle for Washington or Franklin helping him out.

When his gaze landed on Ben, the man had his back to him and was speaking with the Chief Minister and Foreign Minister of France. George was nowhere to be found, and this left poor Alfred on his own.

He looked back to the bejeweled and refined woman, smiling awkwardly. "Oh I'm sorry. I didn't know. Well I mean to say that I didn't know you wanted to speak with me. Or that Francis was-Ah, y'know."

She waved one hand, smiling. "Come visit me in the _Petit Trianon _when you can." Marie seemed to have perfect timing, because at that moment two women hurried over and led her away. His heart felt like it might burst at any moment. Francis had _not _forewarned him about meeting royalty. They were here, yes, but _the _Marie Antoinette? The young woman Francis seemed so enamored with?

He'd had enough for one day. His chest was getting itchy, and the fancy scarf about his neck felt like it'd choke of his air at any moment. Some fresh air would be just the thing to calm his nerves.

Alfred carefully slipped out of the cramped room and into the hallway, grateful of the fact that the gardens were so close. Otherwise he might never find his way out.

It was late in the evening, and rather cool, but that didn't stop Alfred from walking out onto the terrace.

Lanky arms wrapped around his neck from behind, and Alfred went into panic mode almost instantly. The grip tightened, but before it could cut off his air he quickly shoved one hand up between his neck and whoever's forearm it was.

Alfred fell to his knees, tucking his head and tilting forward as he rolled whoever was behind him over his back and onto their back on the ground in front of him. The burn on his chest pulled painfully but he ignored it. He had bigger fish to fry.

He squinted against the darkness, trying to see who it was that had attacked him. Before he got a chance to figure it out, fingers curled into the expensive vest Francis had insisted on buying, and yanked him forward.

Tucking into a ball and rolling made his stomach lurch, and didn't help much in the end. Someone was sitting firmly on his chest, right on top of the burn. His eyes watered and panic set in. It _hurt _and he wanted whoever it was off _now._

Arms and legs flailed in an attempt to knock the other person off balance, but no such luck. They leaned forward, settling even more of their weight on his chest. Somehow his hands had been pinned down, despite his efforts.

Then he realized something. A regular human would not be able to have held him down so easily. His eyes narrowed, and the clouds above parted for just a moment to let the moon shine down on his assailant.

"Prussia."

The albino all but glowed in the moonlight, but then it was dark again. Prussia leaned back, releasing Alfred's hands as he eyed the nation beneath him. "That was pathetic."

One gloved hand pressed down against his chest, and Alfred hissed in through his teeth, batting it away as he glared at Gilbert. "Stop it."

Gilbert pulled his hand back and looked at it casually before he pulled the glove off with his teeth. He repeated the process with his other hand and then tossed them aside, hands reaching down and resting more lightly above Alfred's heart.

Sticky, hot liquid stuck to his skin, and Gilbert frowned as he examined one hand. He looked to Alfred, who was squirming under him. "_Scheißen_."

Alfred rolled his eyes and pushed away at his hands again. "Don't be stupid that was there before. _You _just made it worse." He wasn't thinking straight, or maybe he'd just exhausted his filter for using his mind before he spoke for the day.

"This doesn't excuse you from training in the morning." Gilbert folded his arms, now seated lower on Alfred's torso, and unwilling to move.

The cool breeze was making Alfred shiver. He lifted his head and tried to see how bad the damage was, but he wouldn't know for sure until he got to his room. "Alright, alright. What was this even for?" It hurt his neck to keep it arched like that so he laid his head back on the ground and looked up at the cloudy sky.

The Prussian smirked. "Had to test your reflexes." He rubbed his index finger and thumb together, smearing the blood on his skin further. "You didn't pass by the way."

"What did you expect? You jumped me!"

Gilbert didn't look disturbed by the accusation. "England won't give you a fair warning."

"In the dark!" Alfred's voice got a little louder.

Now Gilbert was beginning to sound bored. "By daylight isn't the only time to attack."

"At a-I give up." It was useless trying to explain to Gilbert just why it wasn't okay to attack your allies in the dark, at a formal event, and then expect them to be alright with it. There was no way this alliance was going to work out.

Alfred's teeth were clattering by this point. The frigid air felt like ice against the blood on his skin and shirt.

"Could you just get off of me, please?"

Gilbert opened his mouth to reply but was cut off by another voice. "_Amérique_?"

Never had Alfred been more relieved to hear from Francis than at that moment. Gilbert leaned over Alfred's body, whispering against the side of his face. "Training tomorrow _Süßer_." Then he was gone, like he'd never been there.

With a groan Alfred sat up, and slowly got to his feet. Just as he regained his footing, Francis stepped out into the gardens and looked directly at him.

"I'm not sure how to feel about this." A wry grin pulled at the corners of Francis's lips. "You abandon my celebration for the gardens." Francis walked over so he stood near to Alfred, shoulders brushing against one another.

Alfred's face heated up. He had skipped out on the party, and that probably wasn't the best way to impress the French. "I was just-" Francis held up one hand, "They are _très beau_, no?"

A sigh of relief escaped from his lips and his shoulders relaxed. Francis had given him an out, and he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. "It's really peaceful here." Alfred hunched forward, trying to conceal the spreading wetness on his shirt.

He jumped when an arm wrapped about his waist, with Francis's hand dipping down near his hip. Suddenly his throat felt dry and the night air wasn't as refreshing as it had been. "France?" His voice _so _did not quiver as he spoke the other nation's formal name.

"I wonder Alfred-Do you know what an alliance entails?"

This conversation was quickly making Alfred uncomfortable. Arthur had always insisted on keeping him away from other countries so as not to form connections. This was new territory, and…And for a moment he wished he was back with Arthur. Where everything was safe, and there were no surprises.

No, he wasn't a coward. He didn't need Arthur. Alfred squared his shoulders and turned so he was facing Francis. He was determined to make this work. "No." This time his voice was strong, or stronger than before at least.

Francis gave him a sidelong glance. "What do you think of France _ma petite colonie_?"

"It's amazing." Alfred looked to the gardens as he said so, the moonlight making it appear almost ethereal. He smiled softly. "Your philosophers are really inspirational. I'm not big on the whole wig thing, but the people here are nice."

Alfred's focus was forced away from the garden as Francis gracefully stepped into his line of vision. Francis's hand slid along his back with the fluid motion, now resting at his hip as though it belonged there.

"I am glad you think so." Was it just Alfred's mind playing tricks on him or had Francis's accent suddenly gotten much thicker? And why did it seem so hard to breathe?

For some reason his body wouldn't move and he couldn't find the right words to say. It was even harder to think straight when Francis dipped his head so that their lips were almost brushing against one another.

Francis's other hand trailed up, fingers grazing across Alfred's chest. He froze, eyes narrowing as he pressed himself flush against Alfred.

The contact made Alfred cringe, and pull back. Pressure against the opened burn was not a pleasant feeling. He took in a sharp breath and stared off to the side, away from Francis.

"What happened?" Alfred could smell the expensive wine on Francis's breath he was so close.

Alfred chewed on his bottom lip as he tried to think up a decent answer. "It's nothing. Really. I'm made of tougher stuff, besides if it was bothering me I would've told you." He spoke softly, trying to calm Francis.

That didn't seem to do the trick. Francis held onto his hip even tighter. "I need to have a word with Gilbert."

How had Francis figured it out? Wasn't he drunk? Alfred felt a little nauseous at the idea of getting Prussia angry with him. "France-"

Francis gave Alfred a sharp look, daring him to say another word. Then his expression softened and he leaned forward, placing a kiss on Alfred's cheek.

"Go and rest _ma petite colonie_."

Dismissed, just like that. Alfred watched the French nation storm off, and was left alone on the terrace. He let out a breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding the whole time.

He stumbled over to a bench and collapsed onto it, heart racing. Francis was no threat to him, or at least he didn't think so. Yet seeing him like that had made his hair stand on end. If Francis could get so worked up over something so little…

"Holy cow pie."

Then how would Arthur react to his second bout of defiance?

Things didn't seem so simple or exciting anymore.

* * *

The next few days were brutal on Alfred, but he had a sneaking suspicion that they would have been worse if Francis hadn't been hovering off to the side-Watching Prussia like a hawk every time they trained.

It was a nice enough day to be outside, but the added pressure of both Francis and Antonio watching made it a little less enjoyable. Well, that and the fact that his chest still hurt from the last few training sessions when Prussia had gotten a little too eager to fight.

Alfred parried an attack from Gilbert, but a moment later the end of the rifle knocked him a good one over the head. He grimaced, but held his ground and dove for Gilbert, managing to catch the Prussian by surprise as he tackled him to the ground.

For once it was Alfred kneeling over the Prussian, breathing heavily with a swelling bruise on his face, but victorious nonetheless.

"Not bad, but England won't hold his hits for you."

Alfred groaned and threw the musket aside. "You were holding back?" That made him feel much worse about his progress-Er, lack thereof. Alfred got off of Gilbert and moved aside so he wasn't pinned beneath him.

With a heavy sigh Alfred sat on the ground cross legged just as Gilbert knelt down in front of him.

"Oi, you're not half bad for some upstart."

Then he got up and walked over to Antonio who was lying on his back and looking up at the sky. Alfred wiped at the sweat on his forehead, exhausted and already starting to feel sore.

He watched the other three nations converse, and sighed quietly. This was one of those times when Alfred felt like he got along better with his own people than fellow nations. Alfred stood up just as a man approached Francis and spoke to him.

Alfred brushed off the dust and grass that stuck to his clothes before approaching them. Francis turned to him and winked.

"I hope you're all packed _ma petite colonie_."

The other two nations exchanged looks and then walked back towards the palace grounds. Probably to make sure they too were ready for the voyage.

This left Alfred alone with Francis. Which he had been carefully avoiding lately.

"So am I sailing with you?" He began casually, sitting down on the ground once more so he could stretch out his legs. Hopefully before they cramped up much.

Francis watched Alfred, still smiling. "_Non_."

"What?" That hadn't been the plan. Or-Well, not that Alfred knew all the details, but he figured that it didn't make much sense. "Then who am I…?"

The smile looked _almost _malicious now. "With Gilbert."

His mouth dropped open, but no words came out. Just sputtering sounds as he tried to figure out why Francis would make him travel with Prussia.

He was still struggling to find a decent response when Francis leaned over him, a glint in his eye. "Have you been evading me Alfred?"

Busted. He swallowed and tried to smile, but it felt strained. "I…"

Francis shrugged his shoulders casually. "It's all been settled, and I'll see you when we arrive in…" He trailed off, "_Les États-Unis d'Amérique_." Another wink of the eye, this time coupled with a smile as he turned to leave.

Alfred struggled to his feet, and launched himself at Francis's back. His arms wrapped around the other nation's waist as he pressed his face against the spot on his back between his shoulder blades.

"I was avoiding you! But only because I was nervous and because George told me to be careful around you and the others." The words spilled out in a rush. Washington had been very specific when he'd told Alfred to not get too involved with these foreign affairs.

He held on tighter to the motionless nation. "Which I was trying to do, because I didn't want to upset him." He finished up and felt loads lighter for having admitted the truth.

The silence was awkward, and slowly Alfred pulled back, feeling foolish for having even said a word.

Francis was _laughing. _He turned around in Alfred's loose hold and hugged the colony to his chest in a gentle hug. "You are very silly, but endearing."

Alfred arched one eyebrow and looked up at Francis in disbelief. He thought this was funny? "Wait so you're not mad?"

Another laugh from Francis answered that question. "_Non_. Your Washington is a smart man."

"Then why am I going with Prussia?" Alfred didn't get it.

Francis's smile softened as he brushed at the bangs that had grown out across the side of Alfred's face. "It is safer."

Understanding washed over Alfred and he sighed in relief. "Gotchya." He grinned, but then realized that he was still holding Francis around the waist and vice versa. Ah, awkward.

Francis didn't seem to notice, and his expression turned somber. "Though it will be a long time away from one another, no?"

It would be strange without the French nation around. Alfred had gotten used to speaking with Francis about philosophy and all sorts of things. He frowned. "I guess so."

Another smile played on Francis's lips as he twirled one strand of Alfred's growing hair around his finger. "You should grow your hair out _ma petite_."

This time it was Alfred's turn to laugh. "No way! It'd get in the way when I do stuff."

Francis's eyebrows rose in mock curiosity. "'Stuff'? What sort of stuff?"

By now Alfred had forgotten how close they were standing to one another. "Horseback riding, building things, y'know-Stuff."

"There is such a thing as a ribbon." Francis remarked with an amused look.

Alfred scoffed, "No offense Francis but I can't pull off the look like you do." It was such a…In his mind French thing to do. Even if there were quite a few Americans who did the same, it just wouldn't look right on him. He knew it.

"Hm, perhaps you should try it sometime first?" Francis posed the idea softly, almost whispering. "I think it would suit you."

All the while Francis spoke he pressed closer to Alfred, mindful of the still healing burn as he fixed one hand at the small of Alfred's back, and the other in his hair.

Alfred clued into how near Francis was to him and blood rushed to his face. "I should go check on George and make sure he's ready." The excuse felt valid to him at least.

Francis looked mildly hurt at the suggestion. "Without a goodbye?"

"Bye?" Alfred tried, and got a chuckle out of Francis.

"_Non_. Is that the way you would say farewell to a friend who you won't be seeing for some time?"

Oh, good point. Alfred shook his head and sighed, then realized something. "We're friends?" That was the first time that Francis had said so, and it felt…It felt nice to hear it.

Francis nodded his head. "_Oui_, very good friends." His fingers pressed in gently against Alfred's lower back, causing him to inch closer.

Alfred grinned, eyes lighting up. "Well alright then!" The Southern drawl was back in his words, and that was the snapping point for Francis. How he had been so reserved and patient all this time was deserving of praise, or at least a reward of some sort.

His head slanted down towards Alfred's, and he pressed their lips together, cutting off whatever Alfred had been rambling on about in that delightful accent of his.

The kiss was unexpected, and Alfred didn't know what to do. Was this another French custom? Was he supposed to _respond _to the kiss? Questions flew through his mind, but then Francis's fingers brushed through his hair across Nantucket and he decided that kissing was…Nice.

As quickly as the kiss had begun, it ended. Francis opened his eyes and smiled down at Alfred. He laughed softly at the doe-eyed look in his eyes. Had the boy never been properly kissed before? It was a travesty, truly.

"_Au revoir__ ma petite colonie_."

Alfred stood there, dumbstruck as Francis left. He could only think of one thing coherently.

"England can _never_ find out." He mumbled, one hand covering his mouth as the other worried at his hair.

* * *

The sea was very much like a home to Arthur, but it always made him feel complete to be on land again, his land. He took in a deep breath as he stood on the dock.

There would be time to enjoy being home again later, when Alfred was under control once more and with him.

He sighed and walked into the nearby pub where he was meeting with an informant. Not the most respectable of places, but there wasn't time to waste on proper protocol. He didn't want to worry his King either. Already rumors had spread across the pond, and his people were growing tired of the American nuisance.

Arthur slid into a chair, across from a man who looked just as out of place with his French-styled finery.

The other man leaned forward. "You've arrived just in time. It's been confirmed. He's there."

That was not the most pleasant news to hear upon his homecoming. Arthur pressed two of his fingers against his forehead. "And?"

"They'll be leaving soon. On ships."

Arthur began to grind his teeth together, eyes closing as he took in a calming breath. This could work to his advantage. He nodded to the informant, even managing a slight tilt of his lips in approval. "You've done well."

"That's not all." The man's eyes were bright with anticipation. "There was a Spanish man there, the one you had described in your letters."

One eyebrow twitched in annoyance. "I'm hardly surprised." He mumbled under his breath. "Thank you." Arthur gave the man another nod before turning to leave. It looked like he wouldn't be staying on land for long at all.

Pity, he'd just arrived.

* * *

Francis cursed under his breath, French rolling off his tongue in phrases that would make fellow sailors blush. He nearly lost his footing as another barrage of cannons laid waste to the starboard side. His fingers curled around the surviving railing and he glared at the other ship that was so close.

No doubt they'd be planning to board soon. The thought was followed by men breaching the small gap between the ships, and all hell broke loose on the ship deck. Yes, well that had been sooner than he'd anticipated.

"_Fils de pute_!" Francis was fuming, but pulled his cutlass free from its sheath while he sidestepped men as they fought one another. He had no time for them; he was intent on finding _him _amongst the chaos.

His eyes scanned the ship deck, but the red jacket was nowhere to be found. The slightest of creaks behind him was all the warning he had. Francis ducked and spun around, slamming his shoulder into Arthur's chest.

He managed to smile at the Brit. "_Angleterre_, I have missed our _chats._" The emphasis on the word 'chat' made it sound far less innocent.

Arthur growled through his clenched teeth, bringing his knee up and slamming it into the underside of Francis's ribs. Francis stumbled back, but straightened, holding his blade with impressive regality despite the situation.

"Where-is-he?"

Francis arched one brow. "Where is who _mon cher_? I cannot read your thoughts."

But a moment after he spoke, Arthur charged at him and metal clashed against metal. Their faces were inches apart. "Don't play coy frog. You've declared war on me by doing this."

So Arthur had finally found out? Francis's head snapped forward, his forehead hitting Arthur's and forcing the Brit back a few steps. "How else am I to get your attention _mon amour_?"

Arthur was seething, his face red as he took in deep breaths. "This was none of your business. You've lost your claim in the New World, so sod off." His words were clipped short.

"Perhaps it wouldn't be 'my business' if you knew how to take care of him." A sly smile played across Francis's lips as he lowered his lashes, fixing Arthur with the full force of his gaze. "He was _starved _for attention."

That did it. Arthur lunged forward, and threw his full force behind the swing of his blade. Francis countered with his own cutlass, but the strength behind the blow caught him by surprise. His weapon flew from his grip, and slid across the deck.

Francis's back was arched back over the railing with Arthur's blade at his throat and his other hand tugging viciously on his hair.

"If you so much as _touched _him I'll slit your throat here and now." The threat rang true to Francis's ears, but this was an interesting side of Arthur to witness. He laughed, eyes filled with mirth.

"Ah so that's how it is. I pity you _Angleterre_." The blade dug in a little deeper, enough to leave a thin cut across his otherwise unmarred throat.

Arthur's eyes narrowed further. "What are you blathering about?"

Francis just kept on smiling at him, and as he opened his mouth the ship rocked violently. Arthur lost his balance, stumbling back and barely keeping himself from falling as the ship tipped precariously once more.

He looked up to where Francis had been, only to find the smug frog standing atop the railing, one hand holding onto a rope attached to the mast.

"_Au revoir, chéri_!" Then Francis jumped, leaving Arthur stunned. Had he gone mad?

Arthur ran to the side of the ship, peering over the railing and hissing in frustration when he saw just where the frog had gone. He was currently being pulled aboard a smaller ship, which would no doubt take him to the ship that was now attacking them as well.

He knew that ship. The _Ranger_ was infamous to any British sailor. As much so as the man who commanded her. "John Paul Jones." Arthur breathed the name. Would he ever be rid of that pest?

Arthur turned to go back to his ship to properly fight the cowardly Yank. By the time he and his men had boarded their ship, the _Ranger _was sailing out of sight.

"After them then!" Arthur shouted to the nearest man in command, who began relaying orders in a booming voice.

Francis was probably gloating over his little victory, but it wouldn't be long before they met again. When they did Arthur would get the answers he had been searching for.

Then a thought occurred to him. Arthur's eyes widened and he reached into the bag at his side to pull out Flopsy. He stared at the stuffed bunny.

"Where was Alfred?"

* * *

Whew. Sorry to cut it off there, but didn't want to drag it on too much! Historical notes for this chapter. The _Petit Trianon _was a château on the ground of the Versailles and was given to Marie Antoinette to redecorate and whatnot. She spoke a variety of languages. Also she was very clever and witty so they say. A charming lady before the courts and the political drama turned her to gambling for pleasure.

My favorite historical figure mentioned in this chapter is that of John Paul Jones who sailed to France during the revolution. He was a very good friend of Benjamin Franklin, and his ship the _Ranger _was the first American vessel to be saluted by the French! Also he owned the heck out of the British with said ship. Which is quite an accomplishment considering the British Navy's prowess and reputation.

Hope y'all enjoyed the bit of France and America in this chapter. Because it's about as romantic as it'll get for this story. **Also keep in mind this story has America and England as the two main characters**. Not as a pairing, but just as who the story revolves around primarily. ;D So try not to jump to conclusions eh?

Translations:

_Je ne parle pas très bien Français_. – I don't speak French very well.

_Scheißen_ – A naughty word in German.

_Süßer_ – Sweetheart.

_Fils de pute_ – Also naughty phrase in French.

**Question for my readers – How do you feel about mature content in stories? **(For another story I'm working on, NOT This Is Justice.)**  
**


	15. Chapter 14

Heeey guys, long time no see. Your amazing reviews continue to humble me and I hope that this chapter is to your liking. Sorry it's taking so long, but like I mentioned I've got so much going on in real life that updates will be slow going. ,':] You can't stay mad at that face…Can you? D:

To be honest this chapter was a challenge for me to write. Zero muse. Back from two week vacation though! MORE UPDATES TO COME.

* * *

Alfred fidgeted on the bed, toes tapping restlessly against the wood beneath his feet. The long, almost unbearable journey to the states had dragged on even longer due to a certain someone. Prussia was to thank for that. When Alfred wasn't being forced to run around doing the strangest of tasks, he was having to duel the crazed Germanic nation and often got doused in salt water for losing.

Thankfully Washington had forced his way onto the vessel with Prussia, and during the voyage had started getting along rather well with some Prussian General. Alfred had a feeling that it was only the two men's friendship that kept Prussia from pushing him even harder.

Finally the whole thing would be over and he'd be back on his lands. This time with allies, and the supplies to fund the revolution. His second revolution he supposed. Alfred sighed and got up, walking out of the cabin he shared with Gilbert and onto the deck.

The sun had just begun to rise and he felt his mood lifting as well. Land was in sight, and a little bubbling feeling in his chest reminded him that he was finally home again.

"Gracing us with your presence at last."

Alfred sighed and turned to face Prussia, who was standing a few feet away.

"Uh huh." Early on he'd found out that it was way easier to deal with Gilbert if he just agreed with him. Arguing was pointless, and besides most of the comments involved him rambling on about how great he was. It wasn't too hard to pretend he cared or was even listening.

He walked past Gilbert as he chattered on, making noncommittal noises in response whenever there was a pause. Alfred leaned forward, hands on the rail of the ship. Land was so close, and he wanted nothing more than to throw himself to it and promise to never ever leave again.

Gilbert had stopped talking again. "Well?" The Prussian prompted with an impatient tapping of his foot.

"Yeah, sure." Alfred supplied instantly. Gilbert's eyebrows rose, a wicked smile on his face as he folded his arms in front of his chest.

"Really?"

That was _not _a good response from Prussia. Alfred's eyes narrowed, "Er on the other ha-"

Then Prussia grabbed him, one arm locked around his neck. "You haven't been listening to anything I've said you little brat!" His knuckles were ruthlessly digging into the top of Alfred's head.

"Ow! It's your fault for not paying more attention to me!" Alfred flailed, trying to dislodge him.

Another wrong answer it'd seem. "As if you need the ego boost you-"

Someone cleared their throat and both America and Prussia stopped to look up and see who it was. Washington stood there with a neutral expression on his face, eyeing them with disapproval before walking off.

Without a word Gilbert let go of Alfred.

"I really do listen-When it's important stuff, and it's not that I don't app-"

Prussia rolled his eyes, waving one hand in the air. "Drop it kid. Just don't let me catch you at it again, right?"

Alfred nodded as Gilbert then walked off as well…Wait a second. He hadn't said not to ignore him, just not to get _caught _ignoring him. Prussia may be creepy, but at times he was downright awesome. Just not to the extent he always claimed himself to be.

They were docking in Virginia, where the docks were currently controlled by Americans. The British Navy was stretched thin as is, and the colonists seemed to take like ducks to the water.

Just to be safe they were arriving close to dusk.

Alfred looked over his shoulder towards the open waters with a wary expression. It was only a matter of time before Arthur would arrive.

* * *

Days after their arrival, word of Spain docking in South Carolina reached them. Which meant that France would be showing up soon. Hopefully.

Prussia was even worse on land when it came to training. Alfred heaved a sigh as he stood doubled over in the muddy field. He held up one hand in mock surrender as he caught his breath.

"B-Break." He gasped out.

Prussia's laugh was beginning to get on his nerves. The albino strutted over and threw an arm around Alfred's shoulders to help pull him upright. "Yeah you've done well for today. Haven't even moaned about your precious General leaving."

His eyes widened.

"Washington?"

Gilbert nodded, one hand ruffling at Alfred's hair before he roughly shoved him aside. "What other General do you obsess over?"

George-Leaving? Since when? He looked around the camp, desperately hoping to see him somewhere. While Prussia babbled on about some war or the other Alfred bolted off in the direction of Washington's tent.

Mud was not easy to run in. In fact, it was the opposite of easy. He kept slipping and lost his balance a few times as he sprinted at full speed.

At least the mud slowed him down significantly when he slid to a stop in front of Washington's tent. The General had insisted on having camping with the rest of the soldiers. It was a minor miracle that Alfred hadn't completely run past it the first time.

He didn't bother announcing himself before he threw aside the tent flap and stormed in.

"Ah ha!" Alfred shouted, pointing at the General who was packing up his things. "Caught red handed." He took in a steadying breath, one hand on his hip. His muscles ached from the sudden sprint across the camp.

George straightened, and arched one brow. He eyed the dirty, disheveled nation before him. "I was going to tell you before I left."

He sounded calm, reasonable. It had no effect on Alfred's frazzled nerves. "_Right_ before you left? I had to hear from Prussia that you were just…Just leaving." Why wouldn't George be willing to tell him? Alfred folded his arms across his chest, glaring at Washington in the most threatening way he could manage.

The two looked at one another for a few moments, and then Alfred dropped the glare. "Where are you going?" His voice was much quieter than before.

With the threat of Alfred having a panic attack subsided, George returned to packing his things into his satchel. "General von Steuben and I will be headed South to aid in the rebellion." He paused to look over his shoulder at Alfred.

"They need formal training, and he can offer that to them."

Alfred sighed in understanding. "And you can rally them behind you. Right." He hunched over as he kicked at the ground with his filthy boot.

He looked up only when a hand gently settled on his shoulder. "You're going to be needed in the North, where the majority of our forces will be. After we handle the skirmishes down South we'll join back up with you."

It made sense. It was a solid battle plan strategically speaking. But that didn't make it any easier. All that Alfred could think of was his not being around to keep an eye on George, and protect him and…

"I'll be fine. You focus on getting these men into shape for fighting the British."

Alfred nodded, unable to speak past the lump that had formed in his throat. George smiled slightly and patted America on the shoulder before slinging the bag around his shoulder and walking out.

Like a dejected puppy Alfred followed after his General.

The Prussian General was already seated on a spotted horse, waiting for Washington as he spoke with his nation. Alfred sighed and took a hold of the reigns of George's horse as he slipped into the saddle easily. Acting like it hadn't been months since he'd last truly ridden.

Both Generals nodded to one another. Prussia spoke rapidly in German as George turned back to America. "See you soon."

Alfred forced himself to smile. "Sure will." The usual enthusiasm in his voice wasn't quite there.

"And thank you. For everything." George added with a good natured wink before turning and heading off, a good chunk of men following after, along with General von Steuben.

The gratitude left Alfred slack jawed. What did _he _have to thank him for? He shook his head in wonder, the smile slowly turning into more of a genuine expression as he turned to face Prussia.

"Ready to get your butt whooped by a backwoods country like me?"

Gilbert seemed surprised, but then he was laughing. Most likely _at _Alfred, as was the norm. "You are hilarious kid."

* * *

They had been moving camp slowly up north, cutting across the thin strip of Maryland and into Pennsylvania. Both Prussia and France had insisted that if they were going to make a statement, it had to be a big one.

Alfred was moving through a wooded area with a small group of Americans. He was glad to be reunited with the Rangers. Most of which he remembered from when they were first picked by Daniel Morgan himself.

It was invigorating to be sneaking about with them again. It felt like the war had never ended.

"Tsst." Alfred stopped his daydreaming and came to a stop, looking ahead to the man in charge. They were going to be sneaking around and hitting the British from behind as Prussia attacked from the front. Hard to believe Arthur was so ready to go to war again.

Did anything stop him?

Hand signals were flashed and the men split up into groups of spotters and shooters. Alfred just so happened to be the one 'spotting' today.

"Let's give them hell." The man Alfred was spotting for looked like him, or how he'd imagine he'd look if he was ten years older and aged like his people did. He grinned at the fellow blond haired, blue eyed American and gave him a thumbs up.

Both of them moved over to an outcropping. They found a good position where they could each see well enough through the bushes to pick out their targets. The spotter was more or less there to keep an eye out for officers, and make sure no Brits found their position.

Despite the misleading name, both men carried a rifle. Alfred cradled the long rifle to his chest like a child as the other man set up.

Alfred settled down on his stomach, rifle at the ready just in case. He hated actually having to do this sometimes, but…He had to do what was necessary to win. No matter what.

"They've smartened up."

The remark made Alfred snort under his breath. The British officers had started removing any medals or embroidery that would signify them to be an officer. It did little good. They couldn't blend in with the militiamen, no matter how much they tried.

"One to the left of the appaloosa horse." Alfred pointed out in a calm tone.

They waited. The leader would take the first shot, and then…Alfred inadvertently held his breath, eyes sweeping across the field as he searched for that familiar mop of blond hair. A pop sounded and then a red coat dropped.

Looked like it was time to get the show on the road.

For the most part the other man, Jackson was his name, found his target and took them out with a cool precision that was almost disconcerting. Alfred was content to lay there and watch for anyone that spotted them. So far so good.

Alfred shivered; the hair on his neck standing as a cold feeling overtook him. Rather suddenly too.

"We should move our position." His voice was a soft whisper, just to be safe.

Jackson gave a nod of the head. "Just one more."

The shot this time sounded much different. Alfred's eyes widened, but he refused to look over. The wet spatter on the side of his face could only be one thing. He pressed his eyelids shut tightly, fingers curling tightly around the stock of his rifle.

"Drop it and stand up."

That voice was like a hit to the stomach. He reluctantly left the gun on the ground, and with slow movements got to his feet.

He stood with his back to England; head tilted up enough to where he wouldn't have to see what was left of Jackson. His fingers ached to reach up and wipe away the blood on his face. Thinking about it made him nauseous.

"Turn around and face me damnit." There was that voice again, as demanding as ever.

Alfred turned to his left so he wouldn't have to look at Jackson. He should've known that Arthur would find him. It had been a bad idea to come along with the marksmen and now he'd endangered the whole attack.

The small distance between them left little to the imagination. Arthur was seething, and shaking slightly from the looks of it. He had a gun fixed on Alfred, the other he'd used to shoot Jackson already back in its holster.

Alfred almost smiled. At how familiar this was. At how nothing had ever really changed between them. Maybe it never would.

Arthur had so much to say to the brash and idiotic colony. Mostly he wanted to scream and demand how he could do something like this. After how well it had been going, after the progress they'd made. Instead the most pitiful of all his thoughts was voiced.

"You're coming home."

There was a moment of silence and then, "No."

Arthur took a step forward, face fixed in a challenge. "No?"

They'd danced to this tune before.

"I am home." Alfred tilted his head up defiantly, daring Arthur to step just a little closer. "This," he waved one hand about, "is my home."

He took in a breath. "I want to be a nation. I want to be _free _to be myself." Everything was rushing out. Everything he'd wanted to explain to England for so long. There was the vain hope that maybe he'd understand.

"I can't. Not as a colony. You-"

He was interrupted before he could even finish. "Were too lenient."

Alfred stared at him dumbly. "What?"

Arthur didn't seem mad anymore. In fact he seemed calm, collected. It was a complete shift from a few moments ago. He stayed where he was, lowering the gun and putting it away with practiced ease. It reminded Alfred of Francis.

"I was away often, and you had too much freedom for someone so young." Arthur sighed softly as though he pitied Alfred. It was not a feeling he liked to be on the receiving end of. "I won't make the same mistake twice. If we put this behind us we can discuss the terms regarding your…Delegates."

He was acting like they weren't in the middle of a battle. As though they hadn't fought in skirmishes leading up to this, or burnt one another's supplies. Alfred didn't know how to respond. Though there was one thing about what he'd said that had struck a chord with him.

"You're lying." He didn't wait for Arthur to question him or deny the statement. "You wouldn't let them live. We could 'discuss' 'til the cows come home and it'd do about as much good as it has before." The taxes had kept coming; his people were looked at as a means to an end. It never changed with him, _never._

What looked like real sympathy crossed Arthur's face briefly. "You're being unreasonable."

Alfred was tired of dealing with this England, of the forced ignorance and refusal to accept what was right before him. So he did the first thing that came to mind to get him to have _some _sort of actual emotion.

"Francis never said that."

Mission accomplished. Arthur's cool exterior was gone in a flash.

Before he could so much as blink, England had surged forward and spun him to the side. He grunted as his back was shoved against a tree and shrank against it when he saw the look on Arthur's face. Sometime in those few seconds Arthur had shoved his forearm against Alfred's throat, other hand holding one of his wrists.

"Is that how you feel?" Arthur's voice sounded calm, but the look he gave Alfred was dark.

Green eyes burned into Alfred's own, a cough lodged in his throat right about where Arthur's arm was. He swallowed, meeting the other's gaze with a stare of his own.

"Define 'feel.'" Alfred even tacked on a triumphant smirk as he said so. Arthur snarled, and spun away from him, but kept a hold on his wrist. An absurdly strong hold.

"We're going home." He forcefully pulled Alfred along behind him, even as he dug his feet in. For a second America began to panic. This was not going according to plan at all. He couldn't go back with England. No one, except Prussia knew where he had gone off to. France wouldn't even know-And-And…

He yanked back on his arm, effectively stopping Arthur and holding his ground. Even if the other nation still had a hold of him. At least it was (sort of) on his terms now.

"I am home, and…And I am not going to be a colony anymore. This time I have help." His voice sounded stronger than he felt. Especially with that near crushing grip on his wrist. Anger flashed across Arthur's features and he stepped close to Alfred, chests bumping briefly.

Even if he was taller, it somehow felt like Arthur was the one looking down on him. He squared his shoulders and glared as best he could.

"I think you should listen to the kid."

Alfred's eyes widened in surprise. When had Prussia gotten here?

Apparently forgotten, Arthur let go of him and turned to look at the albino with obvious distaste. "You're involved in this?" His fingers curled into a fist at his side.

Prussia tossed his head and flashed England a grin. "Were you expecting me to be here for you?"

"Traitor."

Alfred inched away to the side, away from the two nations. There was no telling which one would snap first. Both had weapons on them, and he didn't want to be caught in the middle. A part of him worried though, for England of all people. He scowled and shook his head.

"We've got a battle to win, let's go." Alfred said this to Gilbert, who was still smiling.

"Already won kid." Prussia spoke to him without looking away from England, who was gazing calmly back. They looked like they were having some kind of deranged staring contest.

He turned back towards the battlefield, where the British army was making a retreat. His eyes lit up and he grinned. "We won!" It was just a battle, but it put them that much closer to reaching Philadelphia.

He swung around to face Prussia, but the grin faded from his face fast when he looked at the other nations. Each had a gun fixed on the other, and there was no telling who would pull the trigger first. Arthur was calm, but there was a fierce sheen to his eyes that Alfred was becoming more and more familiar with. Prussia had just as sinister a smirk on his face to match the look on England's.

Were all Europeans this crazy?

"This is stupid." Alfred declared loudly. His statement got both nations looking at him and away from each other. Which made his skin crawl, but at least they weren't about to shoot one another anymore.

Prussia eyes narrowed, but then he was grinning and putting away the weapon. "I'll be the 'mature' one then."

Arthur scoffed but did the same as well.

"It'd be senseless to shoot you after the battle." His attention shifted back to Alfred, and he frowned. "America-"

Before he could go any further, Prussia had walked over and was steering Alfred away via a firm grip on his shoulder. "Take your begging and shove it up your-"

The American bumped his shoulder back into Gilbert's chest which cut him off before he could make the situation any worse. As they made their way back to the other soldiers, Alfred glanced back over his shoulder; expecting to see a melancholy or petulant England.

Instead Arthur was standing tall, with fingers wrapped around the hilt of a blade at his hip. The look in his eyes…Alfred shivered and picked up the pace a little, forcing Prussia to do the same.

"What's your rush?" Gilbert asked with a laugh as he caught up to walk beside Alfred with a few long legged strides.

Alfred shook his head and focused on getting to the familiar safety of the blue uniforms just a short ways off.

"We're going to be meeting Francis soon right?"

The abrupt change in topic either didn't bother Prussia or he chose to ignore it. He settled an arm around Alfred's shoulders, as seemed to be his custom lately. "Sure will be." The creepy grin was back.

"Too bad Antonio is down south fighting. Otherwise our trio would be complete." Prussia sighed, a reminiscent look taking over the grin.

During the trip from Europe back to America there would be moments when Prussia was drunk enough to talk about this 'trio' thing that he had going with Spain and France. It sounded like something private, and Alfred always felt awkward whenever he brought it up.

When they reached the soldiers there was cheering as camp was set up. The other Ranges noticed Jackson's absence, but thankfully didn't ask Alfred about it-Or the blood on his face.

Prussia elected to drink with some of the Generals in celebration of their victory which would put them miles ahead of schedule. Alfred opted to clean up a little and then walk around the camp and speak with some of the other Americans. He avoided the smaller camp on the outskirts where the Rangers were.

It was well into the early hours of the morning before he headed for his tent. The camp was quiet and most all of the fires put out. Save for the few men at their night posts he was the only one awake.

Alfred stepped into his tent, yawning tiredly at the same time. It had been a long day and while he was exhausted his mind kept playing back to his brief encounter with Arthur. Falling asleep probably wasn't going to happen for a long, long time.

As he pulled off his boots, he realized someone else was sitting on his cot.

"I was beginning to think you'd be out all night _ma petite colonie_."

* * *

Really brief historical notes because it is late and I have classes in the morning but HAD to upload this before I went. Washington going South is a tactical move battle-wise for this story. Conditions such as unity (or lack thereof) in Southern colonists along with the British forces there being a key reason.

By this point I'm sure we all know which Prussian General he's BFFs with.

Daniel Morgan was one of the most talented battle tacticians during the Revolutionary War. He formed Morgan's Rangers which were a group of some of the most talented riflemen to be found. The Rangers were said to be unruly and undisciplined, but were darned good at what they did. Often times their camp was kept separate so as not to cause problems with the main group of soldiers. The Rangers knew America and its land better than most, and were a valuable tool in the war.


	16. Chapter 15

I have a _really_ good reason for the delay. My computer completely died on me. Couldn't access any files and lost a lot of stuff. Twice. :\ So the 4000 some word chapter I had written up for this was erased, twice. Had to re-write it, thrice. ._. **Question for readers: **Would you guys prefer shorter chapters updated more frequently or longer chapters updated less often?

* * *

Alfred froze mid-boot removal, with one foot in the air. He stared at the shadowy figure on his cot and let out a breath when his sleep deprived mind connected the French accent with the nation he had been expecting.

"Francis! You're here!" The boot was carelessly thrown off to the side with the other one as he went to light a candle to better see France. It was unnerving being in a dark tent with him, alone. The nearest fire that he could make use of he'd passed on the walk through the camp.

Before he could slip out of the tent to grab a spare piece of wood or something to light the candle, a hand on his shoulder stopped him.

"_Ma petite_ you would leave when I've just arrived?" How did Francis manage to make Alfred feel so guilty without them having even had a conversation yet? Instead of walking out, like he probably should, Alfred turned around and faced him. "I was going to come back y'know. It's creepy dark in here, and it is late."

Speaking of late... "What took you so long?" He glared at Francis, but the Frenchman just smiled softly and steered Alfred back towards his cot and sat him down on it before taking a seat next to him as well.

"Rough waters, and where have you been all day?" The question was gracefully turned back on America who blinked dumbly. Everything that had happened earlier played back through his mind at breakneck speeds. He just shrugged his shoulders and looked away. Sometimes it was easier to deflect a deflected question with not saying anything.

At least that was Alfred's logic.

France's eyes narrowed as he caught sight of the blood on the side of Alfred's face. He reached up and slid his fingers across the dried splatter.

"_Amérique_..." His fingers slipped under and across to the other side of the young nation's face, tilting it to where they were looking at one another. "Is that yours?"

For a second Alfred had no idea what he was talking about. Francis tapped his fingers twice against the bloody cheek, eyebrows arched curiously.

Oh...He'd forgotten to wash the blood off. Alfred none too gently swatted Francis's hand away from his face. "The British Empire is what happened."

Neither said anything, and eventually Alfred broke the silence. "It's not mine," his gaze flicked back to Francis, and he quickly added, "and it's not his either."

Francis made a noncommittal 'hm' sound.

Nothing came to mind to say. Which was ironic since Alfred had been thinking nonstop about all the things he'd say to the French nation whenever he arrived. The moment had come and all he wanted to do was get some rest and not have to think about Arthur or Gilbert or the war. Or especially the lives lost during it.

His shoulders slumped forward and he sighed tiredly. "Francis was there something really important you were going to tell me?" He turned his wary expression on the Frenchman. "I-It's great having you back and around to kick some British butt, and I appreciate it-"

Francis smoothly interjected himself into America's ramblings. "Yet you're tired and are in no mood to listen to my proposal." His lips tilted up faintly.

"Proposal?" Curiosity was probably his greatest weakness, and France was playing right into it. But they would be moving again in the morning, and knowing Prussia it'd be before the sun even came up.

"Maybe tomorrow?" For once he'd do the mature thing and get to bed instead of staying up to hear whatever it was that France had to say.

The other nation smoothly got to his feet and pivoted on one foot so he was facing the still seated America. "_Oui_, tomorrow then." Francis bent over and pressed his lips to the top of Alfred's unruly hair before turning and walking out of the tent.

Alfred sat rigid on his cot for a few minutes after Francis had left, not quite sure what to make of their brief conversation or the casual manner in which he'd left. He stared at the other side of the tent, waiting to make sure France wouldn't pop his head back in. Eventually exhaustion won out over the nagging feeling in the back of his mind.

So rather reluctantly he laid back on the cot and dragged the threadbare blanket up around his shoulders. The moment he closed his eyes he was fast asleep.

* * *

The sound of men laughing woke him up. Which was weird because usually it was more along the lines of an angry Prussian shouting at him and dragging him out before light was on the horizon.

America sat up, his blanket having been kicked off sometime in the night. Groaning softly he stretched out his arms and legs before getting up to stumble about for his boots. He halfheartedly pulled them on and then walked out, blinking against the harsh sunlight that greeted him.

How long had he slept? He walked further out and stopped a passing soldier.

"What time is it?"

Smiling broadly the man clapped Alfred on the shoulder. "About a quarter 'til noon."

His jaw dropped. "What?"

The soldier nodded and began to move again, turning around to walk backwards as he addressed Alfred for a moment. "We've been given the mornin' to recuperate!"

Recuperate? That's a word he didn't think was even in Prussia's vocabulary. Something was up.

He weaved through the various soldiers milling about until he got to Prussia's somewhat grand tent. It wasn't _that _much better than the others, but it was a lot roomier and the inside was nicer than the simple cot and blanket setup most had.

"Prussia?" It was always safer to make his presence known with the albino. _Always_.

A low moan from inside the tent made his stomach plummet. Without waiting for the usual approval he burst into the tent, gaze sweeping the inside worriedly. At first glance he didn't notice anything, or anyone out of place. So where had-

His foot brushed against something and he looked down, fearing the worst. Instead he saw Prussia lying on an expensive looking fur rug with one arm flung across his face. Across the way France was sprawled out along a piece of furniture and mumbling in French.

"_Quelle heure est-il_?" His voice drifted across the room, sounding lower than usual.

Un-freaking-believable.

"You guys are _drunk_!" Alfred looked from the still motionless Prussia to France as the Frenchman slowly straightened and ran a hand through his loose hair.

France smiled, a sardonic tilt taking the place of his usual smirk. "_Non _we are ah…" He trailed off eyes narrowing as he tried to think up the word.

"Hung over." America stated, still unable to believe what he was seeing. They were at _war _and the two were getting drunk and sleeping in 'til the afternoon. No wonder the soldiers had been given the morning off to 'recuperate.' These two were probably trying to make a recovery themselves.

"_Quelle heure est-il_?" Francis repeated the question while stretching out lazily. Apparently neither were in the mood to get moving or do anything.

"It's abou-"

"_Dites-le dans le Français_." Francis was no longer squinting at Alfred tiredly, and he'd somehow gotten to his feet and was looking directly at him. Had he not just seen the nation mumble and groan himself awake from a drunk stupor-Alfred would have thought him completely sober.

He ran a hand through his hair in frustration.

"Is Prussia even alive?" He wasn't in the mood to oblige a drunken France right then. This was so, so unprofessional or something. America carefully edged the toe of his boot forward enough to nudge Prussia in the side.

No reaction whatsoever.

That couldn't be a good sign. From this angle he wasn't sure if Prussia was breathing or not. "France?" For a brief moment he looked away and that was all the opportunity that Prussia needed.

One second he was poking an unconscious Prussia and the next his boot had been grabbed and his footing literally pulled out from underneath him. He fell to the floor with a thud, landing flat on his back and gasping for air that suddenly wasn't in his lungs.

"_Dummer Bauer_."

Alfred gaped at Gilbert who was sitting on his chest somehow. What was with these two?

When he could breathe again he started to shove Gilbert off of him. The nation seemed content to sit atop him and so he glanced over towards Francis in hopes that he'd help out. France was busy tying his hair back with a ribbon, sitting with one leg crossed over the other-The very picture of elegance...

Despite the reek of alcohol that still permeated the air.

"The heck is wrong with you guys? We've got to _move_ and Arthur's probably ten steps ahead of us by now."

Prussia arched one brow. "You think so hick? Far as I know we are at an advantage." He leaned in dangerously close to Alfred, one hand pressing down roughly on his shoulder. "Or do you know something I don't?"

Alarms went off in America's head and he quickly shook it back and forth.

"We're about to meet up with your delegates, _non_?" Francis interrupted while watching them.

For a few lingering moments Prussia kept his dark gaze fixed on America and then got up with a grunt. Alfred sat up slowly, not wanting to set off either of the unstable nations. Both were giving him weird vibes at the moment.

"Yeah." America watched Prussia anxiously, eyes going wide when the nation suddenly started taking off his clothes and changing. Alfred stood up and turned around so he was directly facing Francis and had Gilbert to his back.

"Especially since we got our uhm, win the other day." He was doing his darndest to ignore Prussia's grumbling and the sound of him shuffling around trying to find clothes apparently, but blood still rushed to his face.

Francis hid a smile behind his hand at Alfred's naïve antics. It was endearing, but he'd no doubt get over such modesty soon.

"I'm going to go pack my things." Alfred mumbled as he rushed out of the tent.

Honestly he didn't have much to pack, but it gave him something to do other than sit around with the other nations. Soon they'd take back Philadelphia, and if the runners between their camps and the delegates were right then…He sighed and rubbed at his forehead.

At the very least maybe the bright sunlight and clear skies would sober those two up. He hurried back to his tent and began stuffing away extra clothes and other items strewn about. Breaking down both the cot and tent went by quickly as well. Just as he was rolling up his pathetic blanket someone cleared their throat from behind him.

"Sir."

America straightened and faced the messenger who'd been behind him, holding out a letter with a wax seal visible. "Thanks."

The soldier nodded before turning and rushing off. No doubt to deliver other important letters.

Alfred turned the letter over in his hands so he could better see the seal. His eyes widened at the familiar red wax and the embellishment in it. This was a letter from George.

He bent over to slide the knife out from his boot strap and cut through the wax easily. His fingers shook as he unfolded the letter, eyes glued to the elegant script of his General.

_America,_

_News has not likely reached you of our situation and so I hope this letter finds you sooner rather than later. Spain has been an invaluable ally in the Southern states. With his determination this solemn affair may draw to a close much sooner than anticipated-That is not the reason to which I write this hasty letter._

_I am writing to you of a subject that is of great concern. Do not worry about us as the South is all but reclaimed-You might, and I suppose you will learn of this perhaps before my letter even reaches you. This elegant way of communication cannot lessen the blow of the news I must be the bearer of-and what unfortunate news it is._

_There is a threat you must keep an eye for. I've only but heard rumors and without evidence I say this in the most solemn manner. The British Empire is long re-_

The letter suddenly stopped. Ink had been spilt across it and for some reason George hadn't bothered to write out the letter again or even include another slip of paper with the rest of it. Had he been in such a rush that he wouldn't notice it?

America bit down on his bottom lip, chewing at it nervously. His stomach was doing flips and not the good kind either. He folded the letter and carefully put it on an inside pocket of his pack. Maybe another letter would come. One that explained whatever this supposed threat was.

He just hoped that George was alright.

* * *

"Behind us!"

"_Gottverdammt_! Shoot the _red _coats! _Hurensohn_."

Everything was dark, and blurry. Except for that bright bit of flickering light off to the side. Alfred rolled to his feet, holding his bloody shoulder while he tried to figure out what had happened.

Camp had been taken down and then…Then they'd been marching for the better part of the day and had continued on into the evening. Nothing of interest had happened.

In fact Philadelphia had just been in sight when everything had gone to crap real fast. How England had recovered from his loss and prepared a trap so quickly was beyond Alfred's comprehension. This couldn't be happening.

The burning of their supply wagons said otherwise. That along with the cries of soldiers in both German and English. He looked around, trying to spot Arthur, or even Gilbert, but stopped when he saw Francis standing with blade drawn and staring at something.

Or more specifically someone.

Alfred's stomach dropped and a wave of nausea almost made him fall back to his knees.

"Canada."

* * *

Historical notes? Whatarethose? Seriously getting into further territory with this AU that won't contain as many as before. But I did use some heavy influence and wording from George Washington's actual letters, specifically the ones he wrote to his wife Martha. Also during this time Canada was a colony of Britain's, and in this AU England's going to pull all the stops-Including dear _Mathieu_.

Burning supply wagons/night attacks were a common thing to do during this particular war. Dirty fighting. AMG WE'RE DEVELOPING PLOT WUT. **Again if y'all could answer my question about whether or not ****you prefer shorter chapters updated more frequently or longer chapters updated less often-That'd be fabulous.**

_Quelle heure est-il? _– What time is it?

_Dites-le dans le Français_. _– _Say it in French.

_Dummer Bauer_. _– _Silly farmer.

Rest of the translations aren't important really. Just the good ol' curses and whatnot.


	17. Chapter 16

Hola mis amigos. As of now I'm on the edge of stopping this story. For a variety of reasons, one of the top being my strong dislike of my writing. We'll see.

* * *

France didn't seem to be willing to move from his spot, and Canada was just standing there. A shout from Prussia made America realize he was gawking at his brother in the middle of a rather gruesome skirmish. He dropped to the ground and rolled as a bayonet jabbed at the air where his back had just been. The jerking motion pulled on the wound that he couldn't remember getting.

At least he wasn't frozen with shock anymore. He grabbed a rifle from a lifeless soldier and made his way towards Canada. Prussia had taken charge and was keeping them from being completely wiped out, by some miracle.

Though it was obvious they were trying to make a hasty retreat and get out of the trap that they'd walked right into.

France didn't get more than a step in before a blur of red slammed into him. In fact everything looked sort of blurry to America at the moment. Canada had seemingly snapped out of his distant gaze when France had been shoved aside. He seemed detached from the world as he went right back to fighting the American soldiers.

Alfred was no more than a few feet away from him, rifle held limply at his side.

"Mattie." He had been planning on shouting out his name; instead it came out in a hiss under his breath. To be honest he wouldn't be surprised if the northern twin hadn't heard him.

Proving him wrong Canada turned around after having sent a man to the ground with a swift hit from the stock end of his musket.

Neither said anything. Canada had the decency to look ashamed, or maybe embarrassed-Or just awkward about being there.

"Al-America." The nausea hit him in the stomach again. It probably would've been worse if he had to hear Canada say his name in that tone of voice rather than just his title. Regardless of how he felt and how much he wanted to wring England by the neck for dragging Canada into this…He had a war to win.

His eyes narrowed. "The hell are you doing Mattie?" Alfred could see the reaction on Canada's face when he used his nickname. The slight twitch was a give away, and his brother had always been terrible at card games.

Canada hesitated and then he was actually glaring at America. "W-What am _I _doing? You're the one that's left, twice now." There was a tremor in his voice, but he didn't stop, not even when Alfred stepped closer to him. "Do you even know what you're doing to him? How much he's-You're being spoiled." His last statement was whispered, or at least softer than his already soft voice was.

What he was doing to the almighty British Empire? Alfred almost laughed but only rolled his eyes.

"I'm being my own person, more than I can say for you." Okay maybe that was a little harsh, but he wasn't going to take his words back now. America stubbornly looked off to the side, waiting for the moment when Canada would back down and apologize.

Matthew sighed, "We're not people."

Alfred stiffened, not having expected that to be his response. That didn't sound like an apology at all.

"Of course we are." What was he trying to play at? Had England put him up to this? Alfred nervously looked off to the side, where he'd last seen France wrestling with someone in the bloody field.

A look of frustration, if you could call it that, passed over Canada's features. This time he was the one to step closer to America. "We're nations." His soft voice penetrated right through Alfred's hazy mind. There was hardly any distance between them, both with weapons pointed at the ground, mirroring one other.

"We're more than that though." Alfred thought about all the feelings and emotions that ran through him. Those couldn't be fake, or or-Not human. They were too close to the things his people described. His eyebrows drew downward as he tried to recall exact emotions and when they happened.

A gentle pressure on his shoulder tore him from his thoughts. He looked up and glared at the person across from him, having completely forgotten where he was. Who was he even talking to-Oh right, Canada, who now had a hand resting just above his bleeding shoulder.

Matthew chewed on his bottom lip. "Come home Alfred, please?"

They stared at each other, the contact broken only when Alfred smacked his brother's hand off of his shoulder. "No. I'm not going back. I can't."

Matthew didn't move, not even when Alfred shakily pointed his weapon at him. Canada's gaze flicked over Alfred's shoulder and then down to the ground. "I-I'm sorry Al."

Alfred arched one brow as he squared his shoulders. It wasn't that surprising, that his brother would finally cave. Even if he wasn't the one using a weapon, and pointing it at his brother. The bleak look on Canada's face did make him feel a _little_ guilty. Which was stupid because he wasn't the one who had started fighting Mattie. This was all England's fault.

"It's okay." America couldn't help it. Seeing his brother all torn up like that brought out the words that probably weren't as reassuring as he was trying to make them be.

Actually they seemed to have the opposite effect he'd intended on. Canada looked even worse and closed his eyes tightly. Alfred dropped the gun and moved towards his twin. He placed his hands on his shoulders as if to shake him, but never got that far.

There was a burst of pain at the back of his head and then he collapsed forward, right into Matthew's waiting arms.

England stood, bloodied and bruised with a musket raised. He dropped the weapon to the ground and stepped forward, patting the unconscious America on the top of his head before turning and taking long strides back into the fray.

Mattie stood there, eyes glued to England who hadn't said a single word to him or commended him on keeping Alfred distracted. He slung one of Alfred's arms around his shoulders and slipped his own arm around his brother's waist. Walking out of the battle was slow going.

He stopped only when his gaze caught on two distinct individuals. An extremely pale man was fighting alongside Francis, and they seemed to actually be driving back Arthur's-His and Arthur's forces. England had done a number on Francis, but he didn't seem to be hindered by the wounds.

Then those blue, bloodshot eyes found him, and they widened at the sight. Canada's fingers dug in tighter to America's side, protectively.

The albino noticed where France's attention was being drawn to and when Francis made to move their way, he jerked him back by his sleeve. Canada didn't wait a moment longer and hurried away, uncertain if he could face his _papa_, or his intimidating friend. Who had to be Prussia, the nation England had warned him about.

Despite knowing he shouldn't Matthew glanced over his shoulder, gaze connecting with that of Prussia's. Whose look promised all sorts of unpleasant things to come. Mattie shouldered more of his brother's dead weight and stumbled the rest of the way to the waiting wagon.

* * *

This update is **i****ntentionally** this short. The next one should be out soon, but I didn't want to stuff all of it into a chapter that would be excessively long. So consider this an interlude if you will. Next chapter will be filled with drama for whenever/if ever I get to it. Thanks for sticking with me so far. No historical notes since this was just a short tidbit.

I guess most historical you can get is the fact that prisoners of war were taken very often during the Revolutionary War. Many of them were stored on boats just off the coast that were floating death sentences. Disease was rampant, the prisoners didn't get fed and almost none survived.


	18. Chapter 17

Here's next chapter. I owe some of you guys oneshots and I'll get to them when I can, promise. Thanks for being patient you guys. (If anyone still reads this. )

* * *

The first thing that came to mind was how sore his entire body, but mostly his head felt. Alfred gingerly poked at the lump on the back of his skull. He hissed in a breath through his teeth, "That smarts." And then some, but he was too groggy to think of any other appropriate words to describe it.

Once over his newly acquired bruise he began to take in his surroundings. He had been laid out on a cot in a tent, and for a second he thought he was back at camp. From out of the corner of his eye he saw a red jacket, and the memories came rushing back all at once. He wasn't at camp, at least not his camp. Despite the shooting pain running from his neck down his spine he got up and walked out.

Guards had been posted outside the tent, but they didn't seem worried about his meandering. Alfred glared at them, noticing the winter gear they had on and shivering as he realized he had nothing on from the waist up. Well, nothing other than some bandages that had been wrapped around his shoulder.

"Al! Y-You're awake!" Even when shouting, Canada's voice was almost nonexistent. Alfred's glare turned on Canada and apparently it was effective since it had his twin stumbling to a stop before he even reached him.

Alfred didn't say anything. His shoulders began to tremble from the cold though, so he turned to go back in the tent and find a shirt or something.

He could feel Canada's eyes on his back, but he didn't say anything. Didn't so much as acknowledge him while he overturned items that didn't belong to him. Probably some of Mattie's stuff.

After sufficiently making a mess of just about everything, Mattie stepped in and pulled out a shirt that had been hidden under the cot. He turned around and held it out to his brother who was continuing with his silent treatment. Sighing heavily Matthew set it down on the cot and walked out, pausing at the opening and hunching over a little.

"A storm is coming in so you might want to grab a coat be-if you come out." He had heard of his twin's tantrums before from Arthur, and he wouldn't put it past Alfred to stay in the tent for the rest of their stay here just to avoid seeing or dealing with anyone. Alfred's silence earned another soft sigh from Canada and then he was gone.

America poked at the shirt, examined it, turned it over, and finally pulled it on over his head. The material was cool from being on the ground for who-knew-how-long, but it did the trick. His gaze tracked over to the aforementioned jacket, but he drew the line at dressing up in a British uniform. He sat down on the cot and bent over, looking underneath it with his head upside down from where he sat. A pair of boots were also hidden under there so he dragged them out and pulled them on, as well as the socks that had been inside them.

Feeling a little bit better now that he wasn't so exposed he wrapped the threadbare blanket from the cot around his shoulders and set off to explore wherever he was. Obviously it was a British camp of some sort, and it couldn't be too far from Philadelphia. That was a little encouraging because it meant that France would be nearby. Assuming he wasn't too preoccupied with England, or if he had reached Philadelphia.

Alfred rubbed at his forehead in frustration. He spotted Canada standing off to the side under an open tent, discussing what looked like important battle plans with some officers. Or more so standing there listening while the others ignored him. Alfred chuckled to himself and began to explore the camp. There wasn't much to see, and it wasn't until he got to one of the far ends that he really came to notice where he was.

A shabby prison camp had been set up on this side of the camp. Most of the men were shackled together, and to the posts to keep them from leaving or escaping too easily. A scant few were kept even further away and isolated from the rest. One of the prisoners by themselves was a young boy with bandages around his head and left hand. A mass of unruly orangey brown hair stuck out around the tightly wrapped bandage. America looked around but none of the officers were paying him much attention.

So he walked over and sat down on the ground in front of the dirtied, bloodied, and angry looking boy.

The two sized each other up silently, but the silent staring match was broken when the boy spit a wad of blood off to the side.

"You're not one of them."

Alfred slowly shook his head, "No."

The boy's eyes narrowed curiously. "But you're not locked up."

"Not at the moment." As he said so he glanced around and while the occasional Redcoat gave them a look; they didn't seem to care much about their conversation. Probably assumed the boy wasn't dangerous, but then why would he be put off by himself?

A few more awkward moments of silence passed during which Alfred noticed a few things about the boy. One, that the wounds he had were fresh if the blossoming red on his bandages were anything to go off of. Two, that he had obviously done something interesting, if not note-worthy to be kept away from the others. And three, that he was familiar.

"You're Andrew."

The boy smiled, but it looked more like a grimace to Alfred. "Yes."

Then Alfred was grinning and had closed the small distance between them, hands reaching out and clasping Andrew's-Taking care to be gentle with his left hand. "I knew it! You were that courier, from before!" Another slow nod from Andrew, who he supposed could be considered a teenager. He looked too malnourished to be a thirteen year old though.

His little outburst had finally gotten the attention of one of the officer's standing guard who walked over and looked down at them. "The boy is not to be spoken to until his time has been served."

America arched one brow at Andrew, wondering how much time he had already 'served' and what he'd done to do so. Andrew smirked, but didn't say anything. Alfred shrugged and got to his feet, mock saluting the officer. "Sure thing."

His blatant insult brought an angry flush to the officer's face but he turned and strode away to deal with shouting that was coming from a group of prisoner's a little ways off. Alfred tilted his head towards Andrew.

"I'll be by later."

Andrew didn't look convinced, and shrugged. He looked as apathetic as he had before Alfred had come over to talk with him. Didn't he have a brother? Last that he'd heard they had been captured together.

He was about to kneel down again and find out what all had happened and ask all the questions running through his mind, but someone was clearing their throat behind him. America gave Andrew one last look and turned around to see Canada gazing at him curiously. His eyes flicked from the boy to Alfred and then back.

"W-We need to talk." If he hadn't stuttered America might have considered that a command, and while it was tempting to tell him off...The attention of the officers was suddenly focused on them and he wasn't in the mood to be dragged to wherever Canada wanted. He nodded in agreement and began to walk with Mattie, who was speaking softly. So softly that it was a struggle to make out what he was saying.

Instead of listening Alfred blocked his brother out. He had a lot to think about and for once Canada seemed to be the one doing all the talking. He was so immersed in his thoughts that he nearly kept on walking when Canada had stopped. Thankfully he caught himself, and the hand holding his upper arm helped as well. He looked over to Canada, refusing to give him as much as a glare.

The blank stare unsettled Mattie enough to where he gave his brother an unpleasant shove forward. Alfred looked around curiously, having wondered if they were going back to Matt's tent to talk or so he could keep a better eye on him until England showed up-If he showed up. America pulled the blanket a bit tighter around his shoulders as he took in the refined decor of the tent. Nothing like what Francis or even Prussia's looked like. He took another step in, slowly turning and his gaze skipped right across a chair, until he realized someone was sitting in it.

Canada's grip had somehow shifted from his bicep to his shoulder, and his fingers were pressed in right over his wound. America jerked his head over his shoulder and finally gave Mattie a nasty glare. That had been sneaky, and he hadn't actually expected Canada to be so…Calculating. Using a physical weak point against him was unfair. Canada now was the one avoiding eye contact and slowly dug his fingers in, enough to apply an unpleasant pressure on the stitched gash.

The subtle gesture wasn't lost on Alfred and he took a few more steps forward until he was able to make out the features of who he already knew was sitting in that stupid, lavish chair.

America looked at the British Empire, seeing remnants of the fury from the other day that had been directed at him. To wither under that look would be admitting defeat, and so he squared his shoulders-Well, as best he could with Mattie's fingers pressing in on his wound. Then England stood up and closed the space between them, standing almost nose to nose. America wished he had grown a few inches taller, enough to where he could look down at him rather than almost directly across. Which was stupid because height had nothing to do with anything, but-

His rambling thoughts came to a stop when arms wrapped around him, pulling him in close. One of Arthur's hands rested at the back of his head, the other curled tightly in the material of his shirt. Canada was forced to let go of his shoulder and then Alfred wasn't sure where he had gone, because all he could focus on was the unexpected hug from England. Then England pulled back and pushed at the loose collar of Alfred's shirt to look at the bandaged wound. The abrupt switch from warm hug to cool appraisal left Alfred staring dumbly at England.

Then England's hand had replaced Canada's, but his fingernails dug in against the bandage with an unforgiving strength. He inhaled sharply, eyes narrowing as he reached up and wrapped his fingers around England's wrist, hoping to deter him. It had the opposite effect and Alfred fell to his knees, tears welling up. He bit his lip to keep the groan of pain from escaping past his throat.

"Arthur!" Canada squeaked out. Oh, so he was still here. Alfred only had eyes for England at the moment, and he was doing his best to stare without blinking or looking anywhere else.

England had followed America to the ground, kneeling in front of him on one knee. Blood pooled out around his fingertips, nails having broken through the bandaging to the raw wound below. The fingers of his other hand curled into Alfred's dirty blond hair so he could pull him closer. Arthur spoke plainly against Alfred's ear, loud enough for Matthew to hear.

"You are lucky Alfred, so very lucky." He stared at Matthew as he spoke, who looked back with lips slightly parted and eyes widened. His gaze darted back and forth between the blood on Alfred's binding and Arthur's eyes. "Maybe you didn't even know what you were doing, but I can no longer give you the benefit of the doubt."

He paused, breathing in deeply as though to sigh but he never did. "We're going to have a talk, like you always wanted." By now his fingers had dug in well past the bandages and were sinking deeper into the re-opened wound.

Alfred ground his teeth together, his muscles tensing and shaking as he kept himself from lashing out at Arthur. With a great deal of control he lifted one hand to push England back by his shoulder, enough to where he could look what had once been his father-figure in the face. What he saw wasn't a surprise, but he had been hoping...

"I'm done talking." Alfred then snapped his head forward, foreheads colliding. Arthur's fingers slid out of the opened wound with a rather unsettling squelching sound that would have made Alfred's stomach turn had he not been falling into unconsciousness, laughing as he did.

The last thing he remembered was Canada's cry of surprise and a slur of British curse words that sounded like music to his ears.

* * *

Francis was lounging on one of the chairs, some supposed important one that had a sun engraved in it and had been found overturned when they'd first entered the building. Taking back Philadelphia had been much easier than he'd anticipated. England had left in the midst of the battle, and his soldiers had done the same. They had withdrawn without seeming to care that they were going to lose a serious foothold.

It had been odd, and put France on edge for the rest of the evening.

While moving through the city to the Congressional building it had become apparent that Philadelphia was what _Angleterre_ had burnt not so long ago. Francis eyed the scorch marks on the walls. The room had been well sacked and left to rot. It was unlikely anyone had set foot in this place until he and Prussia had arrived. The albino was leaning against a wall with his arms folded and glaring at the group of Americans conversing just on the other side of the room.

"_Mon chéri _that look doesn't suit you."

Prussia's glare shifted to France, who shrugged his shoulders and winked at him. "At least not in negotiations." All he got for a response was a shrug, and so Francis got out of the chair and walked over to stand near his ally. "Should we really be doing this without _Amerique_ here?" Francis bit down on his bottom lip, worrying at it for a moment.

"After all we were going to discuss some of the more, ah, delicate situations involved with this signing and there was always the after-party." Francis sounded truly distraught as he mentioned this bit. The delegates weren't paying them any mind, well none except for one man who had a sharp gaze and made France's skin break out in goose bumps when that look was turned on him.

Prussia had yet to contribute to the conversation so France rambled on. "After all he is an important part to this, _oui_? We should have gone after them, after Alfred." France tilted his head, long hair brushing against Prussia's shoulder. "Now _Amerique_ is with him and there's no telling what will happen to this war's effort. This should have waited, been called off. We should ha-"

"Would you shut up?" Prussia elbowed France, but it wasn't hard enough to do any damage. France's eyebrows shot up at the curious way Prussia decided to finally join in on the one sided conversation. Prussia pushed himself off of the wall and turned to the side so he was facing the other nation and had his back more or less to the delegates.

"The kid will be fine. Besides if it weren't for him we wouldn't have gotten this city back along with the port." Francis tilted his head, interested in hearing out what it was that Prussia meant. The albino didn't say another word though and looked like he was about to turn around and go back to his solemn wall leaning.

France frowned and brushed his fingers at some nonexistent dirt on Prussia's shoulder. "_Oui mon ami_?" He hoped to encourage him back into the conversation.

Gilbert's gaze flicked across the delegates and then back to Francis. "_Ja_." Then he let out a drawn out sigh, rolling his eyes dramatically. "America makes England stupid. He makes rash decisions like pulling the army just to have a chance to see his colony back in his hands."

France's smile turned predatory. They had played this game before, and he always enjoyed the role of devil's advocate. "So what you're saying is that England retreated because he merely wanted to see _Amerique_ once more? To spend time with him?" He pressed one gloved finger to his lips in thought before making a dramatic flourish with his hand.

"Non. Who is to say that he doesn't have a reason? Perhaps we've marched right into a trap and these men," he gestured broadly with an open arm to the delegates, "are now doomed to their deaths."

Prussia scoffed and shook his head. "Doubt it. You weren't there when he tried to take the kid back with him."

That shut Francis up, and Prussia now had his undivided attention. "When was this?" He tried to sound casual about it, but it was impossible to hide the eager tone in his voice. Prussia shrugged and scratched at the back of his head.

"The day you showed up at camp again, when we had won. Brows didn't even hear me sneak up on them." Prussia paused for a second. "America makes him stupid." He repeated his initial statement, sticking by it. Francis frowned and shook his head slowly, "I think you've misunderstood England. You two have had your...Ah, moments, but you don't know him like I do."

France sighed, voice hollow. "He's fighting this war for Alfred, and that's what is pushing him to win. It's why he won the first time."

"It's because he's fighting for him that he's going to lose." Prussia countered with a shrug.

That tone of voice coupled with the stance Prussia adopted met that this conversation was over. France sighed softly one more time and looked back over to the delegates as they wrote furiously over pieces of paper. In the midst of the flurry there was one unmoving man.

He kept his steely gaze on both France and Prussia. France grimaced from the unpleasant look they were getting.

"Who is he?" Francis asked Prussia, uncaring if the young man in question heard them or not.

Prussia shrugged his shoulders. "How should I know? I'm only sticking around until I can go get something to drink. If we can't seal the deal as nations then what's the point in sticking around for this?"

France laughed and shook his head, looping one arm around Prussia's waist and leading them over towards the delegates. "Ah, you do have the best ideas _mon cher_."

* * *

Being woken up by being tossed over someone's shoulder was not the best way to start a new day. America grumbled under his breath about the whole thing not being very funny but stopped mid-complaint when he realized how much his shoulder hurt and that this wasn't Prussia's usual method of getting him out of bed.

He opened his eyes but had to close them just as quickly when the sun all but blinded him. "Owwwwww." He drew out the one word as long as he possibly could, raising his hands to rub at his eyes in frustration. Why was he being moved?

Not long after his thoughts caught up with his situation he was tossed down onto the ground and then manhandled about until he was cuffed to a post; in the middle of camp. He blinked a few times, greeted with a bleary view of his surroundings.

Someone was behind him, locking the chains that attached to a shackle on each wrist. Didn't look like he'd be going anywhere anytime soon. His ankles had been tied as well it looked like. He wiggled his toes, watching them with the mild fascination of someone who had just woken up and was still partially asleep.

"That's enough." A quiet voice interrupted his admiration of the awesomeness that is feet.

He looked up and squinted through his bangs at Canada. He looked as immaculate as ever with his uniform still on and looking freshly pressed.

America spoke without thinking, sleepiness still clinging to him. "Hey where's your bear?" It might have been more productive to find out why he was being shackled up like other prisoners, but he figured it had something to do with that head butting thing the other day.

There was no response. In fact Mattie didn't even look at him before turning and walking away. The soldier who had been behind him did so as well, trailing after his twin.

"You got in trouble."

Alfred's head lolled to the side and he looked at Andrew who wasn't too far off from him. He smiled. "Sure did."

"And you're all bloody." He pointed out as well, bright blue eyes taking in the disheveled appearance of the soldier he had spoken to just yesterday, though under vastly different circumstances. Also his entire shoulder hadn't been a crusty brown color with bits flecking off whenever he moved.

America kept on smiling but looked away a moment from Andrew to the shoulder in question. "Looks like." Then he realized something, eyes widening and mouth opening partially. "Hey you're not over by yourself anymore. On good behavior or something?"

That got a scoff out of the boy who shook his head. "No they didn't tell me. Just moved me, and then you showed up."

Alfred craned his neck back so that his head bumped against the rough wooden post and he was looking up at the blue sky. "Oh. Well at least we can talk."

That didn't do the trick, and if anything Andrew got even quieter than before. America frowned, scooting a little so was able to look at his fellow prisoner without having to twist his neck every time. "What happened to you?" He pointed as much as he could to Andrew's hand and head.

His attempt to get a conversation going wasn't working. Andrew had stared at him for a little while but then he got bored with that apparently and started dragging a finger through the dirt on the ground. After a few minutes America gave up hope of getting him to open up and slouched down against the uncomfortable post.

"I wouldn't clean their boots."

Alfred looked back at Andrew, but he was still doodling in the dirt, eyes on the ground. He glanced at some of the officers standing off to the side. "Which one?"

That question made Andrew's head jerk up and his gaze immediately locked on one of the older officers, and more decorated among the group. "That one." He didn't say anything else about it, but the raging hatred behind his eyes spoke volumes and America didn't say another word.

After a while the silence got boring for him and since he didn't really have anyone else to talk to…

"What happened to your brother?"

Andrew actually looked a little interested in the question, eyes widening in surprise. "You remember them? Which one?"

Alfred wracked his brain for a name, trying desperately to remember the brother who Andrew had been captured with. "Er-Rooooobert?" He drew out the name hesitantly while watching Andrew's face for a reaction, ready to switch mid-name to another R-name if he was wrong.

"He was here. Then he got smallpox."

"Oh."

"Yes."

They didn't say anything to each other for the rest of the day. While America tried to find a comfortable position so he could get some rest, he was surprised to see that Andrew would steadily watch the officer's every move and track them with a wary glare.

Then the sun was setting and it was getting much colder. "H-How l-long do you guys j-just stay out here?" America's teeth chattered slightly as he brought his knees up to his chest and cradled his hands in between his thighs and stomach.

"I've been out here for five days. This will be the sixth night."

He stared at Andrew with wide eyes. "Aren't you cold?"

The youth shrugged his shoulders but it was obvious from his trembling shoulders he wasn't immune to the chill that permeated the night air.

So without saying anything Alfred scooted over as close as he could. "Hey, c'mere."

Andrew's shoulders jumped in surprise at how much closer the American had gotten. "What? Why for?" He cast a suspicious look around, but most of the soldiers were huddling near to fires.

"Because I'm cold, d'uh." That didn't convince the boy who just arched one brow and folded his arms. America smiled, eyes glistening with a hint of mischief. "I'll sing if you don't."

"_What_?" Andrew asked incredulously.

Without missing a beat Alfred broke into song, "Father and I went down to camp, along with Captain Gooding; and there we saw the men and boys, as thick as hasty pudding-"

Andrew reacted just as quickly, nearly throwing himself the small distance over to Alfred and curled up against his side; one hand slapped over Alfred's mouth. The outburst went unnoticed for the most part by the soldiers. Some looked around curiously before shrugging and returning to their own conversations.

"You're _insane_."

"But warm." America countered with a grin, sitting with his legs crossed. All he got was a groan and some mumbles from the boy, who was trying his best to stay awake. His head started to droop forward, only to snap back up again as he looked around to see if anyone noticed.

Eventually he did doze off, head sliding down and resting on Alfred's shoulder.

"G'night Andrew."

* * *

AH HA DONE. So I hope this is a long enough update to appease y'all. Sorry it's been so delayed. I'm very busy lately. Thank you for sticking with me.

Time for historical notes! Often times camps had little prisoner areas set up, sometimes in the yards of estates that soldiers/officers would stay in. They were pretty craptastic and a lot of times soldiers would contract diseases from being so jam-packed and mistreated. Not a lot of POWs survived captivity.

The prisoner in question? That's young Andrew Jackson. He actually was a courier in the war as a young boy but he and his brother were captured. His eldest brother died from heat stroke in a battle. Both he and Robert contracted smallpox, Andrew lived but Robert did not. He also did get a cut across his head and left hand for disobeying an officer and not polishing his boots. Little rebel rouser. Eventually his mother secured his freedom a couple of years later, but not so in this story.

Philadelphia is won! The ports that are referred to are in fact ones that were used heavily in connection to the Delaware Bay for supplies and the like. The man who was giving France the third degree is our beloved James Madison, and boy does he have his reasons. You'll find them out soon enough.

Oh and that song Alfred started singing? None other than Yankee Doodle! The colonists took what the British had created and were using as an insult and sort of claimed the song for their own. So instead of being derogatory like the Brits intended, the Americans danced to it and sang to their hearts content. Oh that must have been annoying for poor Arthur.

Anyhow the development between Andrew and Alfred is happening for a reason, and I don't think any language notes are needed this chapter. WOAH long endnote here.

OH! I almost forgot. The chair that Francis is sitting in that was overturned is none other than _The Rising Sun Armchair. _George Washington sat in it and Ben Franklin supposedly said, "I have often looked at that picture behind the president without being able to tell whether it was a rising or setting sun. Now at length I have the happiness to know that it is indeed a rising, not a setting sun."


	19. Chapter 18

…..Hi. Everyone. Anyone who still reads this that is. Sorry this has been so, so delayed. Life has taken a turn for the insane. A lot happened, medically and financially. It was rough going. So I hope this chapter is up to par. To those I owe oneshots, please remind me so I can get to them. Sorry, again. /slow exit out.

* * *

The clouds had cleared away and in their place was the glaring sun, greeting all who were unfortunate enough to be out at such an early hour. That would include the huddled pair out on the muddy ground in the middle of camp.

America groaned and with one hand rubbed at his eyes. The other was currently wrapped around the small form of Andrew. He looked at the tousled red hair with a smile. It hadn't been the best night of sleep but he reckoned that Andrew had slept better than he had in days. Moments later he began to grumble as he slowly woke up.

"G'morning." America said cheerfully, watching as the camp began to come to life. He felt Andrew stiffen and then pull away. A glance over confirmed that the poor boy's face was flushed red with embarrassment no doubt. America kept from smiling as he arched his back, rolling his shoulders with the movement to elicit a few gratifying pops.

Andrew was back over by his post, which wasn't too far away and that was when America realized that a few more prisoners had been added to the camp. Faces that weren't familiar and looked less dirty than those who had been here longer. Had something else gone wrong?

He was analyzing the camp, making mental notes so that he would remember for when he got out of here. Since it was only a matter of time. He was plotting out escape routes, making head counts and trying to identify just where they were. America was so engrossed in his plotting that he didn't pay much attention to the murmuring voice. It was just a nagging annoyance.

Only when Andrew bumped his thigh with his small foot did he look over and that was when he realized that mumbling sound had been Canada speaking,

His head tilted back to rest against the post so that he could (sort of) look down his nose at his twin. "I can't understand you when you're whispering. You really should speak up." America's voice was playful, but he had no doubt his northern brother would recognize the cold tone laced in his advice.

Canada opened his mouth, but before he could say anything America interrupted, "Then again you sure seem to like letting Arthur do all the talking. Never could stand up for yourse-" This time America was cut off as his brother knelt down very close in front of him, reaching around to unlock the manacles and glaring at him nose to nose.

"He wants to talk to you," there was a short pause, enough for Canada to sigh, "again." Then with a surprising bit of strength Canada dragged America to his feet. He turned to Andrew and offered a reassuring smile before being led away by his brother.

He hadn't realized it at the time but the cuffs had been on tighter than was necessary. Slight abrasions circled each wrist. America rubbed at them while they walked towards the same tent he had been in just the other day. He had honestly expected England to try something more, well dramatic. Like leave him tied to that post for days on end until he begged to be taken back or something absurd like that.

Canada was being quiet, but that wasn't unusual. It wasn't the comfortable silence that used to hang between them whenever they were with one another though.

There wasn't a chance to try and talk with Canada anymore, they were at the tent and his brother was standing aside; waiting for him to walk in first. Even though it went against all his instincts America strutted into the tent. He could have sworn that the second he stepped inside his shoulder began to ache, a steady beating pain reminding him of what England had done just the other day.

Canada silently stepped in behind him, but stayed at the edge of the tent's flap. After his eyes adjusted to the darker interior he closed the distance between himself and the desk England was seated behind. He knew the drill by now, and plopped down in the chair directly across from the island nation.

Whatever he was working on it was apparently important since he didn't spare a glance for America. Instead he kept on writing in that infuriating flourished style with a neutral expression on his face. America was beginning to wonder if he should say something, even glancing back at Canada who looked just as impassive as England.

Just as he was starting to fidget in the rigid chair England set aside the papers and leaned back in his (more comfortable looking) chair. The light didn't quite reach his eyes and it was hard to tell if England was looking at him or merely off to the side.

"You are making this difficult on me." A heavy sigh punctuated his complaint. Before America could gloat about it he continued. "Not the war mind you, but how I should handle your punishment." Then he was leaning forward, with one elbow on the desktop so he could set his chin in the palm of his hand.

"You don't seem to care about your own wellbeing," England gestured with his other hand towards America's wrists, "and you hardly have any sense about you." This time his gaze flicked to the wound on his shoulder. "So how am I to make you understand how very much trouble you have caused not only myself but my allies as well?" His question was obviously rhetorical.

The topic didn't make America nervous, but it was the way in which England spoke that elicited a shiver out of him. Despite the warning bells going off in his head, he spoke. "You ain't seen trouble yet."

While France had seemed interested, or maybe just mildly amused by his Southern accent, it generally got a scowl out of England. This time was different. Before he knew what had happened he was dragged forward across the desk by the dry, bloody fabric of his shirt and scrambling for purchase on the slick mahogany wood.

"War certainly hasn't improved your manners." England ground out between clenched teeth.

America inhaled deeply; one hand reaching out to shove away England but faster than he had thought possible his wrist was snatched by the elder nation. The edge of the desk bit into his hip and to keep himself from ripping the already ruined shirt he had to steady himself with his only free hand.

"You may not care for me," England spoke softly, so quietly that Canada probably wouldn't even be able to hear him, "but I know that you care for your people."

He tossed America back, who landed unceremoniously in the chair. "This is ridiculous. You brought me here to what-Threaten me? Americans are already fighting, and dying to be free. Of course I care about them." Where was England going with this? That nagging, ominous feeling was back.

Shouting made him turn his head, just in time to see a soldier drag in the kicking and flailing form of Andrew Jackson. He turned slowly back towards England, eyes wide. "En-Arthur? What do you think you're doing?"

Instead of answering him England stood up and walked around the desk until he was near to the soldier who had a firm grip on Andrew. Upon seeing America he had stopped fighting the soldier so much, instead looking between the nations uncertainly.

"You refuse to see reason, but then when finally confronted with it you seek to blame others. If you want to be independent so badly you should have realized by now how to accept fault when it lies with you." England gave a nod and the soldier let Andrew go, who stood there stiffly.

Making sure he moved slowly, America got to his feet, hands held out in a placating manner. "Please, Arthur you don't have to. Alright? I get it. This, he's just a _kid_ for crying out loud." That earned a glare from the 'kid', but America wasn't about to mince words right now. "Arthur-"

"A child doesn't enlist in the militia and act as messenger for soldiers." England's voice was calm and collected, his face blank of any emotion. He took another step closer, turning to face America as he placed one hand on Andrew's shoulder. "So what choice then is there?"

Andrew recoiled, roughly shoving at England's hand and then looking to America. "Don't let them bully you."

"As uncouth as you." England commented before then stepping back and nodding to the soldier who was slipping the rifle off of his shoulder.

America was beginning to panic. This wasn't going at all how he wanted. "This isn't right!" His voice broke on the word 'right.' Andrew put on a brave front but he could see the innate childlike fear just behind his eyes. Not even a full grown man would face down a rifle point blank with unwavering courage.

"You're a damn coward!" America shouted at England who watched the scene with an infuriatingly impassive stare. Not willing to wait any longer he stepped forward, moving quickly to tackle the redcoat before he had a chance to shoot Andrew.

He could see the uncertainty in the soldier's eyes as he lunged for him. For once things would work out. Just this once he wouldn't let someone else down. He was a breath away from reaching the soldier when he was tackled mid jump by someone he had forgotten about.

With an 'oomph' all the air was shoved out of his lungs as he landed on his back. Anger took over him as he tried to shove Canada off. A gasp of 'no' was all he managed as he rolled over just in time to see Andrew take a bayonet to the shoulder.

Red crept in on his vision, blurring the edges of everything as he watched Andrew crumple to the ground and try to stop the bleeding with his thin hands. America's fingers dug into Canada's shoulders, muscles tensing as he thought about just how hard he was going to throw his brother.

Then Andrew was being lifted and taken away. When he was gone all the fight left America, his entire body going limp as he instead stared upwards and thought about the matching wounds both he and Andrew had now. Even though his was from a bullet and not a bayonet. How much blood could a kid his size lose and still live?

Canada had eased up off of him and England was kneeling nearby. He was speaking but America wasn't listening. No, something else had his attention. Nothing physical, but just a feeling. His head tilted, gaze unfocused as he tried to listen for _something_.

He wasn't left waiting for long.

A series of shots followed by the unmistakable sound of artillery. America came crashing back to the present, only now Canada was standing and listening as England gave orders. His timing was good, considering England had turned to him at that very moment to address him.

"Don't do anything that will force my hand again America." England gave him a hard look before running out of the tent, no doubt to speak with his generals and figure out what exactly was happening.

That left America alone with his brother. He sat up slowly, sitting cross legged on the ground and looking at Canada. A year ago, heck even a few months ago he wouldn't have guessed his brother capable of what he had done.

A year ago America wouldn't have even considered what he was about to do.

"I'm sorry it's…It's been like this." Canada began quietly, fingers dancing along the buckle that kept his own rifle across his back. "A-Alfred, I don't like this."

On the surface America understood. He really did. His brother wasn't one for war, but that didn't seem to stop him from participating when England came calling. Didn't stop him from doing what he had done.

America stayed silent, watching Canada with a level stare. "The sooner this is over, the better." Canada added in a hushed whisper.

"You're as much a coward as he is."

With that he lunged at Canada, who jerked aside in surprise but was unable to completely avoid the attack. The two fell to the ground once more, this time on America's terms. He fought for a hold on Canada, managing to snap the buckle so the rifle wasn't a problem anymore. That left some more room for maneuvering.

Even with surprise on his side America was struggling to get the upper hand. He took an elbow to the nose. Canada squeaked out a 'sorry' but then followed it with a knee to the ribcage that had America wheezing again.

America stopped moving and became dead weight for a second. Enough to throw off Canada's balance and slip behind him so he could wrap an arm around his throat.

"Not as sorry as I am." America mumbled as he sent his twin into a forced sleep.

Once he was certain Canada was out he got up and quickly exchanged their clothes. He rushed for the flap, intent on finding Andrew before it was too late. Just as he was about to step out he glanced over his shoulder and felt a stab of guilt hit him square in the chest. Groaning he moved back to Canada and picked him up. There was a cot in the tent that would have to do for now. He set him down and covered him with a blanket.

Now at least he could leave with a somewhat clean conscious.

The camp was in chaos. Somehow the prisoners had gotten loose from the looks of things and the British were quickly being overwhelmed. That wasn't his problem though. The trail of blood in the dirt caught his attention and he set off running.

There was a lot of blood, more than there should be. It made his stomach clench and turn in unpleasant ways. The trail stopped at the prisoner side of the camp. America looked about frantically before spotting the familiar mess of hair amidst bodies of soldiers.

He ran over, sliding on his knees the rest of the way as he reached out and turned over the still form.

"Andrew?" His voice cracked for the second time today.

A small groan was his reward and America nearly whooped and danced on the spot. Instead he pulled him closer and looked at the wound. Andrew had torn off part of his own shirt to wrap around the wound and stop the bleeding as best he could.

"Com'on we're busting out of here." America offered in a pathetic attempt at humor. Andrew cracked open his eyes and rolled them, which was a good sign.

The camp was now being lit on fire; it was time to get out of there. America lifted Andrew who weakly wrapped his arms about his neck as he carried him out and towards the nearby forest. "They got theirs didn't they?"

America turned his head, catching glimpses of the fire and imagining he saw England in them. "Sure did Andrew." That didn't mean his plan was flawless though. Sooner rather than later England would figure out what he had done. He and Canada often got mistaken for one another, but…

Shouts pulled him from his thoughts. Soldiers had apparently noticed one of their own leaving and thought something fishy was about. "Great, just great. Hang on kiddo." America picked up the pace, ducking behind a tree just as shots were fired off. He ran, as fast as he risked with Andrew on his back and then decided a new tactic was needed.

Things hadn't gone as smoothly as he'd initially assumed they would. Then again his plan had been somewhat half-baked and not that ready to come out of the oven. No going back and changing things up though so they were stuck with the current situation.

Said situation involved a heaping dose of hiding from redcoats in a tree while trying not to drop the very precious cargo on his back. The things America did for his people-Really. When the sun went down it would be much easier to sneak the rest of the way towards the city and then meet up with some of the resistance. It was only a matter of time, and England didn't have the resources to waste on looking for him forever.

Just a matter of time.

Unfortunately that thought didn't make it any easier to balance on the tree while holding his breath to keep quiet and prevent the kid on his back from toppling over. Speaking of, Andrew's breathing was still shallow and it made America nervous. Maybe he should risk moving in the sunlight just to get him to some other people faster. People who knew how to treat wounds.

A glob of white fell right onto his shoulder, and America glanced up in time to see the guilty bird fly off. His eye twitched.

"How are you doing?" America whispered. He wanted to make sure Andrew was still al-Was alright. The battle was still going on not far away and he hadn't made much progress towards Philadelphia.

"'Mtired." The slurred speech couldn't be a good sign.

America grimaced. "Okay, we're going to get going alright? So just stay awake until then." He began to gingerly make his way back down the tree, keeping an eye out for any soldiers out looking for him. He'd abandoned the red jacket he'd borrowed from Canada since it was too obvious a target. Hopefully that would be enough to get him safely to Philadelphia.

"Why don't you tell me about your family?" America suggested, alert for any trouble as he walked along, avoiding twigs and leaves as best he could.

Andrew sighed and shifted a little. "You knew about Robert. They practically starved us." Even near death he managed to hold contempt for the British, his words cold and precise. "Got smallpox too. Thought Robert would survive, but he didn't." There was a pause. "I did."

America nodded, but this wasn't the sort of memories he wanted Andrew clinging to, not now. "What about your mom?"

This time when he spoke Andrew's voice had softened. "She's great. She has been writing, trying to get me out of that camp. Miss her." The way he was phrasing his words made America a little worried. From what he could tell Andrew was well spoken, and carefully formed sentences. The missing words weren't like him.

"What about yours?"

America blinked a few times. "My wha-Oh." The question had caught him off guard, enough to make him stop walking for a moment. "You mean my mom."

"I…" There was no right way to really answer this question. The silence stretched on, as America fumbled to find the right words to explain. Maybe he was just tired from the war. When had been the last time he'd eaten?

He shook his head. "I'm not really sure, but like you I've got a brother, two really I guess." America offered the alternative, hoping Andrew wouldn't press the issue. "You actually met them. They were the two back in that tent."

"Damn redcoats?" Andrew mumbled.

"Hey language, but yes, I guess." They spoke in whispers, as they had since they'd left the camp. The more distant the sounds of gunfire, the better. It made America a little less edgy. "Want me to tell you about them?"

"Alright."

* * *

Francis squinted at the approaching dawn. It crept over the horizon, bringing with it the fresh light of a new day. It would have been a beautiful sight, were he not recovering from a night of somewhat questionable activities with Prussia.

So as it was he glared at the brightening sky. They had moved from the center of the city nearer to the edge to better keep an eye out for England and any attacks he might try from the South. Prussia seemed convinced none would come. France was not so certain.

"_R__é__veiller_!" France called out in a sing-song voice. His only response was a few choice words in German and the sounds of his fellow nation waking up.

He began stretching out, and was in the midst of getting that bothersome crick worked out of his neck when he began hearing shouts in both French and English.

Curiosity prickled at him, but it wasn't enough to entice him from where he was. Only when he saw a familiar form stumbling through the camp did he realize just what the soldiers had been calling out to one another over.

"_Mon Dieu_…" France didn't run out to meet him, but he did walk slightly quicker than befit someone of his standing.

His brisk jog served him well as he arrived just in time to steady America before he toppled over. France looked over the ragged and torn form of the nation he hadn't expected to see so soon. "_Amerique_, you are full of surprises." He spoke warmly, eyes widening as he noticed the boy on his back.

"And you brought a stray."

America finally looked up at France, a gathering of soldiers circling the two. "_Bonjour_ Francis." He offered a rather pathetic smile that nearly cracked France's carefully crafted composure. Then America's eyes widened substantially and he did a fluid movement that France would not have thought him capable of. In seconds the small boy was in his arms instead of on his back and he was pressing him towards France.

"Please get him to a doctor."

France had no choice but to catch the child before America dropped him. "_Mon chéri, _I think that it would be best if you-"

"_Je vous en prie_." America spoke to France but his focus was on the boy, face pale and looking like a lost boy himself. France heaved a sigh but nodded. He gave a French soldier instruction on what to do with America while he carried the boy off to the doctor just outside the camp and in the ruins of Philadelphia.

He looked at the pale, dirt covered child in his arms with a frown tugging at the edges of his lips.

"You are a very lucky boy." France murmured with a bemused sigh.

* * *

Right. Not much historical notes, like at all. Andrew Jackson obviously never suffered a bayonet to the shoulder, but he did lose his brother to smallpox. As I mentioned before (I think?). His mother, Elizabeth was a very interesting woman from what I found. She served as a nurse on a prisoner ship but contracted a disease(cholera) and died as a result. Leaving Andrew an orphan at 14.

Also those behind the attack on the camp will come to light soon.

Annnnd those wounds on America's wrists have double meaning, no really. Don't forget about the South! /goes back to hiding


	20. Chapter 19

I have to say thank you everyone. Your kind reviews are really more than I deserve. College, work, and continued health problems keep me from updating as often as I want but I will finish this. If y'all can stick it out with me. I'll try to get more writing done here soon. I'm going to be leaving for travels abroad soon! Anyway, onto the chapter.

* * *

The voices of French mixed with American accents were a familiar and comforting sound to wake up to. America's eyes opened slowly and he sat up just as carefully. His head felt like it was stuffed with rags and he couldn't remember the last time he had eaten anything. A look around the room he was in made him think of the last time he'd been in an actual house, and then the week's events came rushing back to him. Philadelphia, he had managed to get to the capitol.

After a few stretches and cracking of limbs he got out of the bed, and noticed a clean blue uniform waiting for him on the nearby chair. America smiled and changed, feeling better already. There was still wrapping and gauze around his shoulder, and for some reason his wrists had been bandaged as well. Otherwise he felt fit as a fiddle and was ready to take on whatever the day had to throw at him. He left the room and found himself in a long hallway. He passed closed doors until he got to the front door and stepped out into the street.

What remained of the city was either charred or in disrepair. It made his heart clench and blood boil, but he had other things on his mind. A passing woman with a blood covered apron caught his attention.

"Excuse me, uh miss?" He had to run a few paces to catch up with the hurried and disheveled young woman. She looked at him with raised brows but kept on walking, apparently in a rush herself.

"What is it?"

America was momentarily distracted by how fresh the blood looked. "T-the injured? I'm looking for a young boy. About this tall, red hea-" As he was describing Andrew the woman turned and faced him, stopping so suddenly that he nearly ran into her.

"That way, and don't be bothering him he needs his rest." She pointed to the west and then was off and running once more.

The walk gave him time to take in everything around him. When he had carried Andrew here he had been so tired that he collapsed promptly after making sure France had a hold of the poor kid. Philadelphia wasn't looking its best, but at least it was back in his hands; under American control.

Thankfully the tents for the injured were mostly empty, and it was easy to spot Andrew. America quietly inched his way closer before kneeling by the cot to get a better look at him. He was thin, and the white sheets did little to help his complexion, but he was going to survive it looked like. Andrew didn't seem the sort of person who would give up so easily, especially since they had made it this far.

With a hesitant and somewhat shaky hand, America reached out and pushed a few strands of the curly red hair aside.

"You certainly seem to attract the dregs of society _mon __chéri._"

America's hand jerked back and he spun around in record time to wrap his arms around France and give him a hug. "France! _Qu'avez-vous fait dernièrement_?" The French language rolled easily off of his tongue, and it was well worth it to see the look on France's face before he began to steer him out of the tent so as not to wake Andrew.

The surprise France felt turned into satisfaction as he took the American's arm and watched him closely. "Myself? I've been directing _your _men with the help of my Generals, and putting _Angleterre_ in his proper place. Your disappearance caused quite the stir."

Emotions played across the American's face, and France leaned in a bit closer. "It's a lovely surprise to see you so soon." The insinuation was subtle, perhaps too subtle for America to pick up on but France was in no mood to coddle the colony. With Canada's appearance it was clear how desperate England was getting, and he needed America to be mad, and driven to finish this war as the victor.

For all their sakes.

* * *

America stopped and turned, nearly chest to chest with France and directed a glare right at the older nation. Had France gotten shorter? "Yeah, it wasn't a disappearance so much as a kidnapping. By _Canada_. Which by the way when did he get in on this? And when did _you _find out? Were you even going to tell me?" The questions flew out of his mouth and before he could voice any more of them France shook his head with a smile and began to walk, forcing America along with him.

"His arrival was as much of a surprise to me as it was to you, and I can assure you I'd have told you the moment I had known. I'm sure _Angleterre _meant for it to catch us off guard," he cast a sharp look aside at America, "and he succeeded."

"Yeah well it won't happen again. I ain't going near him and I got stuff to do." America glanced over to see a smile on France's face and shrugged one shoulder. "_We _got stuff to do that is. Right?"

"_Oui,_ and there's not a moment to waste. I believe Prussia had tactics to discuss with you and a _Monsieur_ Madison was wishing to speak with you."

America's eyes lit up, and France's fingers curled just a little more deeply into his arm to get his attention back. "Prussia first, then your politicians later. He's just down this road and waiting in the tent with the large Prussian flag flying above it."

He watched as America took off, apparently having recovered remarkably well from his time spent with England. It was refreshing to have him back, and in good spirits. They would need that for the battles to come.

Despite the notes and requests to meet, America hadn't ever quite gotten around to meeting with James Madison about the important matters he alluded to in his letters. Right after he had found Prussia the albino began drilling him on what had happened, what he had seen and heard at the camp before it had then been overrun-Apparently by Prussia and the regiment he had led.

It was then that he learned just how well they had been doing. Spain's naval forces along with the intervention of the Netherlands were giving England hell on the sea, and the Americans were holding their own in the water as well. John Paul Jones had taken a British ship, the _Drake _and Americans were beginning to have a renewed sense of hope.

The war was far from being won though, and Prussia made sure to drill that fact into America's head, but it hardly mattered. He was just excited to be back with his allies and planning their next move.

Over the next week America, Prussia, and France met with their Generals, and America was more than a little surprised to discover how much had been planned in advance in the few days he had been gone. Instead of letting it bother him he instead thought about how it meant they could move all the faster in securing the rest of the states' rights.

At the moment he was standing in a tent with Prussia, and General William Alexander among other military leaders. They were discussing their push to the South. While George Washington was taking back Southern territories and making his way north, they were to press the remaining British forces and give them no room to fight back before pushing them finally to the ocean and out of the states. For good.

"Virginia will be the most difficult of our battles, and once we have them there then North Carolina will follow." General Alexander was speaking, but America's thoughts were wandering. He absentmindedly rubbed at his bandaged wrists which had started to burn and itch more than they had before.

"America, you'll be leading your riflemen along this ridge," General Alexander's finger traced along a hill on the map, "while Mr. Beilschmid takes the brunt of the soldiers down the middle with ah Mr. Weissenfels." He stumbled over both the Germanic names, but continued on further defining what would be happening on the battlefield.

The man was a force to be reckoned with. America could barely follow the General when he got speaking too quickly, but Prussia didn't seem to have an issue and had a disturbing smile on his face that was growing into a sinister grin. At least they got along.

"Dismissed men, God be with you." That meant the war meeting was over and in a few hours they'd be making their next attack on British and Canadian forces. A hand on his shoulder stopped America from following Prussia and the others out. He turned around to face the General with a frown on his face, "Sir?"

General Alexander sat down in a nearby chair, looking exhausted and like a shadow of the man who had just been issuing orders. America's eyes widened and he moved closer to him. "Is everything alright?"

He was waved off as General Alexander shifted and tried to become more comfortable in the chair. The occasional pained look made America all the more nervous. "Yes yes, I'm just getting older and drinking more. Don't ever drink son."

America nodded dumbly.

"General Washington sent a letter. Things are progressing far quicker than any of us expected." He reached into a pocket on his jacket and pulled out a somewhat crumpled piece of parchment before handing it over to America for him to read. "He is overtaking the British forces in Georgia and with the help of your…Spanish friend they have dealt quite the blow to the damned redcoats." There was a noticeable pause before he called Spain a friend, but he barely heard the hesitation or distrust in the man's words.

General Alexander's voice was a distant sound as America poured over the letter written in George's handwriting. It was a relief to have word from him after the last had ended in a splash of ink with no explanation. He carefully folded the letter and handed it back to General Alexander.

"So what does this mean? That we're really going to do this?" America's eyes widened, memories crowding to the front of his thoughts. "What you're saying, it means we're close. Real close?" He couldn't help the eager note from creeping into his voice, and even though General Alexander looked exhausted he nodded with a smile.

"It sure looks that way doesn't it? Now go on. We have a battle to win."

America was smiling widely, and gave one nod before rushing out of the tent to meet with the men he was going to be spotting with for the coming battle.

It took under an hour to get to their point, and once everyone was in position it was just a matter of time. Prussia took the field in an impressive display of cunning and tactic-Courtesy of General Alexander, and the wide openings left in the British lines gave America and his men all the opportunity they needed to pick off the officers and what little cavalry was used.

Things were looking to be on the American's side until the Canadians showed up. It was painful having to watch the battle from a distance and feel like he had so little impact on it from where he was. The Canadians fought as though they had a true reason to win the war. A better reason than the Americans, and it left America numb. He continued picking out his targets, one by one. When the battle got a little too close they were forced to move and take up another position, but otherwise little of interest happened. Until he spotted a familiar powder blue uniform on the field, near a red one.

"Ain't that the French dandy?" The question confirmed America's fears and he felt his knuckles whiten as he gripped the rifle stock all the tighter.

"Yeah."

France was on the battlefield alright, and he was face to face with Canada.

America's chest felt tight and breathing seemed all the more difficult. He'd have given almost anything to hear what they were talking about; since it was clear from the way they fought one another that there was more talking than fighting going on. All he could do though was keep his gaze fixed on the pair, and force himself to take deep, steady breaths.

As it got later and later, the fighting began to slow and eventually they had to retire to the camp. Sharpshooters were no good in the dark, and the battle usually took a turn for less scrupulous battle tactics in the evening. America hastened back and found France in his tent, taking off his bloody and torn uniform jacket as he took the ribbon out that held his hair back.

"France what-" Then he got a look of the nation's face in the mirror and bit off the rest of his question. America had been so angry earlier. Seeing one of _his _allies with Canada. Someone who he had trusted that only ended up betraying him. It only made sense that France would do the same for his beloved Canada. It was just something else to lose because of England. Okay, so he was probably blowing it out of proportion but something about the whole scene had made him grind his teeth and want nothing more than to storm down there and…A heavy sigh from France drew his attention back to the nation and he cleared his throat awkwardly.

"What can I do?"

That earned him a tired smile and it made him uncomfortable to see France so vulnerable. He felt clean and pristine compared to him as well, which reversed their usual roles. Another look at France and he made up his mind to not mention Canada, or the battle, or anything that might make him feel any worse than he looked already.

Instead he took a few steps forward and poked at his left arm. "You got some cuts, take a seat and I'll get 'em cleaned."

France's eyebrows rose up on his forehead. "Is that so _ma petite colonie_? I'm not certain my wounds are so deadly as to risk your care." America's insulted look only made him chuckle softly but he sat down and gestured America over as he rolled the sleeve up on his left arm to display the shallow cuts running the length of his forearm and interlacing across the top of his hand.

The distant sounds of battle gave them something to listen to as America cleaned the cuts and carefully covered the more serious ones with a bandage or two. After he finished covering the cuts that might reopen on top of France's hand he leaned back on his heels and smiled proudly.

"And done!"

France had a distant look in his eyes the entire time he had been cleaning and wrapping his wounds. After America's proclamation his head slowly tilted and he appraised his arm with a cool look. He waited a few agonizing moments in silence before quirking up one corner of his mouth, "_Vous avez fait du bon travail_."

The compliment made blood rush to America's face and he was thankful for the dim lighting in the tent. "No problem." Another silence formed between them and with France staring at him like that it made America fidget nervously.

It was becoming unbearable and he cracked under the pressure. "So I'll leave you to rest since it looks like we'll be fighting even more tomorrow." He began to leave and was nearly home free when France's soft voice made him stop.

"_S'il vous plaît restez._"

The soft spoken request was strange to hear from the confident and sometimes arrogant nation. America remembered when not so long ago he had said the very same thing to France himself. He hesitated and began to dig the toe of his boot into the dirt.

"France-I don't think that's a good idea." Something about the whole situation felt off to him. Maybe it was just seeing and knowing how badly Canada had an effect on an ally. An ally he had never seen in such a compromising position. It rattled him and made him question his resolve.

"Non, but it's a night to lick our wounds. And since you so generously offered to tend said wounds it would only be right if you stayed."

Uncertainty warred with the desire to leave and forget he had ever walked in the tent. Instead he turned to look at France with a stubborn set to his features. Upon seeing this France tilted his head, "One night away from your Generals and spent getting true rest will not hurt you any more than your restless nights have otherwise."

"Have you been stalking me France?" America asked, his voice cracking slightly on the nation's name.

France laughed loudly, and stood up. "I'm far too busy to follow your every move _mon __chéri_. Your eyes and the dark marks beneath them speak more than you ever would about such matters, now come."

America still wasn't completely convinced but sighed and walked over to the pile of blankets and the mat on the floor that looked comfortable enough. "No cot?" France simply shrugged before sitting down and tugging the reluctant American down.

Before he had a chance to protest France helped him get his uniform jacket and boots off. He then laid down, dragging the many blankets up to cover the both of them.

Despite his exhaustion and the ache in his limbs, America couldn't seem to fall asleep. The night battle so near to them kept him from being able to drift off, and the last look he'd gotten of France's face kept playing over and over in his mind. It was difficult to remember that maybe the older nations still needed comfort. Or that maybe they were hurt more than they let on. When he was certain France was asleep he carefully turned over to look at his face, being sure not to disturb him as he did.

He looked peaceful enough, but he wondered how much it had hurt to see Canada today. Maybe it was something like how England had felt about him, and the revolution.

"_C'est l'heure d'aller au lit ma petite colonie_." France cracked open one eye and smirked at the startled American before gently tapping him on the nose. "Maybe I should sing you to sleep?" The mischievous edge to his voice made America turn over and curl up on his side, closing his eyes.

"G'night France. Sorry about Canada."

"_Bonne nuit, Amérique_."

It was nearly an hour later, and once America's breathing had deepened and he began to snore quietly that France murmured to the sleeping nation. "So am I."

* * *

HISTORICAL NOTES TIME.

Mr. Weissenfels, or Frederick, Baron de Weissenfels was a Prussian native that moved to the colonies after receiving military training under Frederick II while in Prussia. He served in various armies and militias, but when the Revolution took place he joined the side of the revolutionaries much to the chagrin of those around him. He was a very interesting person.

Once again John Paul Jones making a splash. The taking of the _Duke _was a huge deal in the revolutionary war and basically proved that the Royal Navy was capable of being defeated. It was the last of his extraordinary feats in the American navy.

The Netherlands, or what was known at the time as the Dutch Republic actually assisted the Americans cause mostly via naval powers and fighting the Royal Navy. Fun fact, the U.S. Constitution was based on the Constitution of the Republic of the United Provinces as well. So the Dutch Republic was a big inspiration for the colonists. Both have similar writings when it comes to the Declaration of Independence as well.

General William Alexander, also known as Lord Stirling was one of the most important Generals of the Revolution. I won't go into great detail but basically George Washington named him Commander of the Northern armies at one point while he fought in the South and considered him to be a trusted friend and companion.

I _think _that was all for historical notes. Thanks again for everything guys. I really appreciate it.


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